“You know, a cop came to see me this morning,” his mama said, picking her nose with a tissue.
James froze. “What’s that?”
“A cop, came to see me. He was askin’ about Tommy, and askin’ where you were. I told him I didn’t know, that you was prob’ly at work.” She smiled up at James, “How’s that new job goin’?”
“It’s good, mama. Why did he want to know where I was?”
“I don’t know honey, hey could you grab me some more kleenex from the closet?”
James handed her the tissues and, unable to get any more information out of her, left irritated. Not with her, she had the world’s worst memory, but with that damn detective. His mama couldn’t remember the cop’s name, but it had to be him. None of the other cops ever messed with him. It was a good thing he had taken care of Tommy when he did.
***
The sun was low in the gray sky as James made his way back to Palmer Street. He slowed down, peering through the windshield wipers that were swishing to the beat of the heavy rain falling around him. He could finally see the house just ahead, a nice red brick one with white trim. One of the gutters was hanging down on the side of the house. Fat ass soccer dad must have been the ‘fix-it’ one of the pair. He looked like the kind of guy who would try to fix everything, and it would end up more broken than before. James coasted to the edge of the road and put his van in park, leaving it running. He turned off the wipers and watched the wife’s house through the pouring rain. A few lights were on, one in the front room where she sat with the detective before, and one further back in the house. He guessed that was probably her bedroom.
Across the street, a few kids jumped in puddles and screamed with laughter as they splashed each other. Forgotten umbrellas blew across the lawn as their mother yelled at them from the front porch to come inside. There were no kids laughing outside the Crow house. All was quiet, though it did look like she had company. There was a white Taurus in the driveway, along with the black Ford that was there the last time he drove by. Maybe it was a gentleman caller, perhaps the old girl wanted to dust off some cobwebs. He wouldn’t mind helping her out with that, she was still smokin’ hot, even if it turned out she was a little crazy. It was the crazy that did it for him, the girl had style and that was hard to find. Rebecca. That’s what the papers said her name was.
He still wasn’t totally convinced she had the balls to do what was happening. Soccer moms just didn’t do that. They worried about PTA meetings and went to book club and margarita nights with the girls. They didn’t kill people. They really didn’t set them on fire. He smiled to himself; he had to admit whoever did that one had style.
There was still no action coming from the house. The living room curtains were closed, so he couldn’t tell if she was banging the dude on the couch or in her bedroom. Probably in the bedroom. Soccer moms weren’t exactly creative. Though she was a special breed of suburban mom, so maybe...
He must have fallen asleep, because at the sound of a door slamming, his head jerked up from his chest and his eyes flew open. Rebecca was walking towards her driveway. That was her, all right. Old enough to know how to treat a guy, but still not quite hitting that middle-aged matronly look. Slim, with long brown hair he could already see draped over his own thighs.
She climbed into the black Ford and pulled out of the driveway, turning left. He slouched down in his seat even though it was hard to see anything through the pouring rain. The rising bulge in his pants would have to wait. He shifted into drive and eased out onto the street behind her.
30
Rebecca was glad her dad decided to drive down to see her. She didn’t know how she would have gotten through those first few days after Jon’s body was found, without him. Since the moment he returned that night with an armload of Chinese take-out, he had handled things. Phone calls, funeral arrangements, police reports... all handled. And Rebecca let him, because she didn’t care about any of it. She didn’t care about anything anymore. Nothing mattered, and there was no longer a reason to get out of bed. She had gotten rid of the man who killed her family, Jon was no longer missing, and everything was settled.
It wasn’t until she was in her room trying to figure out what to wear for the funeral, that it hit her. Her dad found her there, sobbing in a pitiful heap on the floor of her closet. It was all too much, and she was so tired. She wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week straight, and to forget about everything that had happened since that terrible night. But she couldn’t. She had to go to her husband’s funeral and return to a house that would forever be empty. She had to live with knowing she killed two innocent men. The only thing that kept her from crumbling under the guilt of it all was knowing she had finally taken care of the man that had taken everything from her. She had balanced the scales. Sort of.
She washed her face and walked with her dad back into the living room where he had paused a baking show on TV. The man never baked a day in his life, but in the past when she had pointed that out, he said he would one day. She had rolled her eyes and laughed at him. Walking by the TV, she knew she would never laugh like that again. Nothing would ever be the same. The thin string that had held her in place since Oliver’s death, was knowing Jon would come home and they would get through it together. But that string had snapped, leaving... nothing. She poured a large glass of wine in the kitchen and gulped it down in one very long. swallow. But she still felt nothing. Her dad stayed perched on the edge of the sofa and pretended to watch the cooking show, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Every time she moved, he looked at her and held his breath. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do to help, so he did what he knew how to do best. He left her alone.
“I’m running to the store; do you need anything?”
“Becky, wait.”
Rebecca grabbed her purse, wiped the tears off her face, and headed for the front door without glancing back. The door slammed shut behind her as she rushed to the driveway through the pouring rain. Throwing the car into reverse, she pulled out onto her street and pointed herself towards the bridge. Once on the highway, red and blue lights flashed in her rear-view mirror. She held her breath as the police cruiser pulled up behind her, then swerved around to continue its chase. She sighed. No one was coming to arrest her. At least not then. She felt ashamed for being disappointed. Of course she didn’t want to go to jail, but maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible. She wouldn’t be in that empty house where memories of Ollie and Jon screamed at her from every corner. She wouldn’t have to go to work where everyone would tiptoe around and feel sorry for her. Her heart screamed in her chest, keeping time with the ‘thunk-thunk’ of the windshield wipers, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t take a deep breath. Rebecca’s head was swimming with frustration, sadness, and wine, until she felt them all overtake her as she finally arrived at the bridge.
There weren’t any fishermen, and the stray police tape had long since blown away on the gulf winds. Through the storm, she could almost hear the rumble of cars overhead as she sat in her car with her head on the steering wheel, sobbing. A steady plop-plop of fat raindrops fell hard on the hood, running down the car and into the ground around her. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the bridge and reflecting fiery streaks across the rain-dimpled canal. She turned the car off and jumped out into the mud, her chest heaving in an attempt to draw a full breath. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Her life should be different. She should have a son, and a husband, and a life. Gravel dug into the palms of her hands as she crouched there beside her car, her head down to keep rain out of her face. If anyone had glanced down as they drove across the bridge above her, they would have chuckled to one another assuming she was just another college kid who couldn’t hold their liquor. Drank a bit much at the pub, that one did. She wished it were that simple.
Rebecca pulled herself up and tilted her chin towards the sky. Thunder rolled in the distance as rain caressed her face, mingled with her tears and carried both down to the
ground around her where they rolled in thin channels toward the edge of the water. She walked the path of the small drainage tracks to the edge of the canal and sat down. Rolling waves kissed her feet as she dangled them over the edge. It was the spot where her whole world had changed. It was the water that had taken her precious boy from her. No, it wasn’t the water, but the red headed man that had taken her family. And she doubted she would ever know why. But at least she had done one thing right.
Raymond Rodgers, the news had said. His girlfriend found him after she got off work. She knew he was home, but he wasn’t answering his phone or the door, because while they were at the ‘see each other every night’ stage of their relationship, they hadn’t quite made it to the exchanging of keys. His work van was there, so she knew he was inside. It didn’t take long for her to see legs sprawled out on the floor from a crack in the curtains. She called the police, who uncovered the grisly scene inside. A bold reporter had found the girlfriend sitting on the curb in Raymond’s driveway, away from most of the commotion, and had aimed a camera towards her, broadcasting her grief live to the entire viewing area. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and mascara had tracked down her face. Rebecca felt sorry for her. She knew exactly what she was going through. Well, not exactly, but close enough.
But, then she thought about the kind of woman who would be with a monster like that, and she didn’t feel sorry at all. Rebecca only wished she had gotten answers from him, but she supposed it didn’t matter. Knowing ‘why’ wouldn’t bring them back to her. She supposed her job was done, and she should go home, say goodbye to her dad, and go back to work on Monday. But the thought of going back to that life took all the air out of her lungs. She just couldn’t. There was nothing for her there, not anymore.
Moonlight reflected off the rough ripples in the water, raindrops sparkling into the dark night. It looked so inviting, that water. She wanted to slide down into it and let it carry her away. It was as close as she would ever be to Ollie again, feeling the water against her skin. It could take her, and she wouldn’t need to try to figure out the rest of her life. She could just slip away. She had always thought of suicide as a selfish cop-out, but for her there was no one to leave behind. No one to mourn, or to live with the weight of it and wonder if there was anything they could have done. Her dad was barely her dad; Rebecca being gone wouldn’t affect his day to day life at all. Sure, he’d be sad, he did love her, but he would be fine. All it would take would be a small shifting of her weight, and she could fall into the water below. It would be peaceful, like the old man at the nursing home. She would just be... gone.
Another flash of lightning lit up the night sky around her. She looked out at the bridge carrying people to their lives; cars, trucks, even a few vans. As she watched, an old white van slid under the street lights at the bottom of the bridge, pulled off to the side of the road, and turned around.
31
Ignoring the traffic rumbling overhead, Rebecca turned again towards the water. The violent storm raged around her, building until you could no longer tell where the rain stopped, and the canal began. Ink black water churned and slapped the bottom of her feet as they hung over the concrete embankment. She shifted her weight forward an inch and held herself there, wondering what it would be like to let go, to slide into that welcoming nothingness.
Wide beams swept around her, highlighting the surface of the water, and she turned around.
It was a van. An old white van. A man stepped out, but left his engine running and his headlights on. Rebecca raised her hand above her eyes and squinted, struggling to see anything in the harsh glare. He jogged over to where she was sitting, holding his head low to keep the rain out of his eyes. She swung her legs out of the water and pulled herself up, better able to see him as he came closer. He was lean in an athletic sort of way, and a little shorter than Jon... was. Where Jon had curly blond hair, the man’s was dark and cut much shorter. They were both pale skinned, though the stranger’s cheekbones stood out much higher than Jon’s had, his face sunken around it.
“Hey there! This rain is really coming down, huh?” He huddled beneath the hood of his jacket and grinned at her. All teeth and no bite.
“Sure,” she answered, still thinking of that deep, cleansing water behind her.
The man stepped closer and held out his hand. “I’m James.”
Rebecca stared at his outstretched palm. Her mind was desperately trying to surface from the weight of her earlier thoughts, but she couldn’t shake the heaviness. Struggling, she forced herself to reach out and touch his hand.
Screams of laughter carried on the wind towards them, cutting through the thick blanket of rain. A group of teenagers ambled towards them from the closed bait shop down the road. A few held bottles covered with brown paper sacks, the sacks clinging to the bottles for dear life as the rain soaked them, pulling them towards the ground. The kids playfully pushed each other into large puddles, taking turns drinking from the bottles.
The man’s smile fell as he realized the kids were headed their way. He continued to squeeze her hand until Rebecca pulled back from his wet grasp, shocked out of her fog by the laughter.
“I have to go.” She stepped away from the man and headed towards her car.
“No, don’t.”
Rebecca turned back to the man, standing there in the rain.
“I... um... can you give me a ride?” His smile returned. “My car has a flat tire. That’s why I pulled over here.”
She stood there, considering his request and grimaced at the irony of it.
“My phone is dead, or of course I would just call someone else.” He held his hands up and grinned in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture.
In normal circumstances, Rebecca Crow would never have given a stranger a ride. She didn’t even give the beggars down on Second Street any change when they accosted her at every intersection. She watched enough TV to know what happened to women who stopped to help people out, even if they seemed innocent at first. But on that dark night, in the pouring rain there under that bridge where Oliver and Jon had died, she just didn’t care.
“Sure, whatever.” She turned back towards her car without another word.
The stranger who called himself James, followed.
She was thoroughly soaked by the time she climbed back into the driver’s seat and clasped her seatbelt. Slamming her car door and putting the key in the ignition, Rebecca was almost oblivious to the man sliding into her passenger seat. She didn’t really care if he was there or not. Nothing mattered anymore to her.
Glancing in her rear-view mirror as she turned the car around, she finally spoke, “Where to?”
“Just up that way a little.” He pointed to the other side of the bridge. “Thanks again for helping me out, I really appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
Rebecca inched the car onto the bridge, struggling to see the edges of the road in the hard downpour.
James stared at her expectantly.
“Look, this has been fun and all, but I’ve got things to do, and you’re boring me. I thought you would be... different.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she glanced at the man next to her.
“What?” She turned back to the road, squinting through the heavy rain.
“Rebecca, Rebecca. I thought you were a tiger, claws out, trying to play the big boy games. But you’re just a little kitten, aren’t you? Pathetic.”
“What are you talking about? Do I know you?”
Her eyes bounced from the man to the road, and back again. The car continued its crawl upwards.
“Who am I? Oh, I think you know exactly who I am. You’ve been looking for me. And my van.”
She continued driving, her eyes steady on the road while her mind reeled, trying to find an answer to the question that was sitting next to her.
“Jesus, I thought you were smarter than this. I’m James. James Porter. I killed your sniveling pathetic husband a few months ago right dow
n there.” He looked out of his window, down at the churning water. “Sorry about the kid, really. Didn’t know that was gonna happen, but what do you do?”
Rebecca stopped the car halfway up the bridge and turned to stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief. It couldn’t be him, it was that guy, Raymond Rogers. The plumber. Unless she had gotten it wrong... again. Maybe the plumber was innocent. Just like the man in the green van, and the guy down at the store. She sank into the soaked leather seat and slouched, her foot heavy on the brake.
“Hey there, no funny business. Keep driving.” James leaned forward and touched the tip of a knife she hadn’t seen to the side of her neck.
Rebecca was no better than the man sitting next to her. The man that – she choked back bile that had risen to the bottom of her throat. She wasn’t scared of the man, or the knife. She was just disgusted at being that close to him.
She lifted her foot from the brake and pressed on the gas, the car continuing its slow trek up the side of the bridge.
“Why?”
“Huh? Oh, I don’t know. Needed some cash. Like I said, didn’t know about the kid ‘till it was too late. Honest mistake.”
It was as simple as that. It wasn’t personal. He had needed money, and Jon and Oliver were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because of her. Because she couldn’t remember to replace a spare tire. It would have taken just twenty minutes to swing by a tire shop, and she hadn’t made the time, kept putting it off until she forgot it altogether. One small thing, and it had started an avalanche. And it was entirely her fault. Not Jon’s, the doting dad she’d pushed so far away that he finally gave up on trying to make their marriage a happy one. Not Oliver’s, who loved them both so fiercely and without hesitation. Ollie, who didn’t know how to swim, who was terrified of going beneath the surface. Rebecca could have looked the rest of her life for the man sitting next to her in the car, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Because really, she was the one who had killed her family. It was her fault they were dead.
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