Murder Feels Crazy

by Bill Alive

  Who was it? Who was all this fear about?

  Mark crossed his arms. “Fine. Your turn. Theorize.”

  “Hold on, I just, I need to text someone,” I blurted.

  “Now?” Mark peered at me in surprise.

  “It’ll just take a second,” I said, pulling out my phone. I still didn’t even know who… and then I had this panic that I’d gone and let my phone die again… but no, I do occasionally learn from my mistakes. Somehow, though, that phone panic distracted me, even for that one moment, and when I touched the screen, I suddenly knew the name.

  Ceci.

  hey how are you? I texted.

  Why Ceci? I had no idea.

  But texting her, trying to connect, felt urgent. Once the deed was done, I started to relax.

  Prematurely.

  Mark eyed my phone. “Is she all right?” he said.

  “I don’t know, I just had a… um…”

  “Feeling?” Mark raised his eyebrows.

  “Whatever. You want my theories?” I said, jamming my phone in my pocket. “Theories about killing Katrina… yes…” My rusty mental gears clacked and screeched. “Aunt Dolores?”

  Mark scoffed. “Kill her own niece? Katrina’s death has devastated that woman. It shouldn’t take an empath to tell.”

  “True. I mean, agreed. Correct.”

  “Never mind,” Mark snapped. “Maybe it’s Rachel after all. My vibe could have been off.”

  “Rachel?” I said. “You can make a lame case that Rachel might kill Aidan, but Katrina? Why on earth would Rachel kill Katrina?”

  “The two must have met. Rachel was dating the woman’s brother.” Mark perked up. “Huh. Maybe they hated each other.”

  The thought seemed to cheer him. Which might have seemed gruesome, except… I suddenly realized, that’s how Mark dealt with stress.

  A complex problem, any problem, was an escape hatch, whether he was solving a murder or rescuing a website. He could soar on the wings of the intellect and forget his sordid earthly trials.

  Well, wasn’t that nice.

  Myself, I apparently dealt with stress by sending random texts to friends… friends who weren’t texting back…

  Mark was squinting at me now. “Do you think Ceci’s in trouble?”

  “I don’t think anything. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “No you’re not. Would she usually have texted you back by now?”

  “Can we just walk?” I said. I jumped up from the bench. My legs were tingling with anxiety. “Her place is only a couple blocks.”

  “Sure.” He got up, and we started down the street at a brisk pace.

  “She’s probably at work,” I said.

  “Probably. What exactly are you vibing?”

  “I’m not,” I snapped. “It’s just a… notion. Notions are normal.”

  “Sure.”

  “Can we please just talk about people killing each other?” I barked.

  “If you insist,” Mark said, twinkling. “When you put it like that, though, I’m not sure this would merit a chapter in The Happiness Project…”

  I groaned. “You were saying how now you think Rachel’s guilty?” I said. “Even though you said yourself she was innocent?”

  “I did get that vibe, sure. But what were her cat ears doing in Aidan’s living room?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “But that’s Aidan, it doesn’t have to connect to Katrina.”

  Mark cocked his head, reflective. “I wonder whether Katrina called up Rachel when she found out that wasn’t Luther’s baby.”

  “Hey! What about Luther?” I said. “He skipped town, remember? What the hell ever happened to our super obvious suspect?”

  Right then, we came to the parking lot for Ceci’s townhouse.

  It looked blessedly normal.

  Until a police car screeched into the lot.

  The door flew open, and out stepped Gwen.

  “Oh no,” I said. I broke into a trot. “Gwen! What happened?”

  Gwen was already striding up the steps of Ceci’s porch. “Pete?” she said, clearly startled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m just… we’re just dropping by, what happened? Is she okay?”

  I’d reached the steps, with Mark right behind. Gwen frowned.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Gwen said.

  “Don’t tell me you’re just ‘dropping by’?” Mark said. “I’m going to be out of a job here.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Gwen snapped. “I just had a hunch. Besides, it’s different for sisters.” She hit the door with three quick thuds. “Ceci?” she called. “Ceci!”

  No answer.

  “She must be at work,” I said, fighting panic.

  Gwen flicked Mark a questioning glance.

  Mark was grim. “She’s here.”

  Gwen thrust open the door and barged in.

  We strode down the narrow entrance hall. I hadn’t been to Ceci’s place in awhile, and though the same cheerful knickknacks and framed inspirational posters still lined the hallway, something smelled… off. As if no one had opened a window or dusted in weeks.

  Then we turned the corner to the living room, and I forgot the smell.

  Ceci was slouching on her couch, wearing a ratty T-shirt and grungy sweatpants and a mess of bedhead hair, staring at the floor…

  And holding a bottle of pills.

  She groaned and slowly lifted her head.

  Her eyes were wells of pain.

  Chapter 45

  Gwen lunged and snatched the bottle.

  Ceci winced. “Gwen, I didn’t, okay?” she said. Her voice wrenched out like she was trying to lift a piano. “I’m not going to.”

  Gwen was scrutinizing the bottle. When she spoke, she was deadly calm. “The prescription is in your name.”

  “It’s been weeks, Gwen,” Ceci said. “I know I’m walking around, but some days I can barely move. He said we’d tried everything else…”

  “When did he say this?” I said. “The other night?”

  “No, after,” she snapped. “He sent a note, with an apology, by the way, saying that he hated to think of me still in so much pain…”

  Gwen glared down. I had never in all my life seen such an awful look of judgment.

  “Gwen, I won’t!” Ceci pleaded. “I promise!”

  Gwen threw the bottle. She threw it so hard at Ceci’s feet that it chipped the linoleum and ricocheted into the wall.

  “Do whatever you want,” Gwen said, and she turned and walked away.

  Ceci crumpled. She hid her face and began to wrench with sobs.

  Mark rushed after Gwen into the hallway. I wondered if I should stay with Ceci, but I’d never seen her like this. It was terrifying. She seemed to close up into her own tiny world.

  So I left her too.

  I hate that. But I told myself that I was right there if she asked.

  In the hallway, Mark beat Gwen to the front door. “Don’t,” he said, blocking her path. “You’ll regret it.”

  “Mr. Falcon,” Gwen said. “If I don’t leave now, we’ll all regret it.”

  Mark growled, “Don’t Mr. Falcon me.”

  Gwen’s face opened with a flicker of fear… like she was glimpsing that she might have let him get closer than she was telling herself.

  “Listen,” Mark said. “I’m not a huge opiate fan myself. But if everyone else can get prescriptions for real pain—”

  “She’s a nurse,” Gwen snapped. “We’ve already had two overdoses this month, and unlike you, Ceci has seen what an overdose looks like.”

  “I have seen overdoses,” Mark said quietly.

  “On opiates?” Gwen said.

  “No.”

  “Try it. The lungs shut down. People are flat on their backs, rasping like some undead monster.”

  Mark winced. I guess he had a vivid imagination. I know I did… it sounded like a real-life zombie.

  “It’s horrific,” Gwen said. “What relief is worth the chan
ce of that?”

  “Pain always feels different from the inside,” Mark said.

  “Damn it, Falcon,” Gwen snapped. “There’s more to life than everyone’s precious feelings. She’s supposed to know how to endure.”

  “Like you are?” Mark said. “Walking away?”

  Gwen flinched. But then she said, “This choice was hers.”

  “She didn’t even crack the seal! Is this your moral policy with everyone you care about? Ditch them first, before you can get hurt?”

  “I shouldn’t have to justify objecting to addiction!”

  “She wasn’t shooting up in there, Gwen! It’s a prescription medication.”

  “And there is a nontrivial chance that she could get an addictive high from the first damn pill. Taken as directed. One pill. It happens constantly. And she knows it, Falcon. Don’t you understand? She sees it, she’s a nurse—”

  “She’s also your sister.”

  “And we lost our father.”

  Oh crap, I thought.

  I did tell you that, right? That’s why Gwen became a cop in the first place. Their dad had been a cop in northern Virginia, and the drug dealers had gunned him down. When she and Ceci were little kids. And the shooters had never even been caught.

  Mark said, “I know you did. And I’m sorry. But don’t you want to keep what’s left of your family?”

  “I’ve never heard you say one word about your family.”

  Mark looked stricken. He stared at the floor. “There’s a reason.”

  But Gwen stepped away from him and stood by the door.

  “I’m sure there is, Mr. Falcon. There always is.”

  She slammed the door on her way out.

  The slam jerked a ceramic decoration loose from its nail, a little white cross with a snow-white lamb. It crashed to the tile and shattered.

  And down from an upstairs bedroom sank the sound of Ceci sobbing.

  Chapter 46

  I stood in Ceci’s hallway, feeling wretched. Should I go up and knock on her door?

  But for once, Mark held me back. “Let’s sit,” he said quietly. “She’ll come.”

  So we sat, on her cozy little couch in her bright little living room, and I wished I’d brought my headphones.

  When she finally stopped crying, it was quiet for what felt like an hour. Sometimes, soft murmurs drifted down… maybe she was praying?

  At last the stairs creaked, and then she walked in, red-eyed and haunted.

  “How are you feeling?” Mark said.

  “Fine,” she said, flat.

  He winced. “You sure?”

  “You two probably have to get to work.”

  Work? I thought.

  And then I thought, yes. Work. Perfect.

  “I actually should get some hours in…” I said lightly.

  “What?” Mark snapped.

  “…but come with me,” I said.

  Ceci frowned. “Hang out at the New Age store?”

  “Why not?” I said.

  “He’s right, Ceci,” Mark said. “Don’t hang out here.”

  She hesitated, then gave me a narrow glance. “No ‘remedies’, Pete. If you mention colloidal silver, I’m calling a taxi.”

  “Of course!” I said. “I promise I won’t try to push any remedies on you.”

  And that was totally true, it wasn’t even mental vegetation. Or whatever. I wouldn’t be pushing a thing.

  Ceci went up to get dressed, and when she came back in a nice shirt and dress pants, she looked almost herself. Except her eyes. And how she couldn’t quite hide it when she winced.

  At first, I was super hopeful that Vivian might be able to help. I mean, I didn’t know exactly what she’d do, but I did know Vivian. I still get shivers when I remember how she taught Mark to shield.

  But as we drove to the store in awkward silence, my hope began to wane. Then, when we opened the door at the entrance, the damn ward toppled right onto Ceci, sprinkling its dried bits all through her loose hair. By the time she’d gotten them all shaken out, she was huddled by the entrance, arms crossed, shrinking away from the shelves of elephant goddesses and the rows of carefully sorted crystals.

  Oops. I’d forgotten how allergic Ceci was to this place.

  Then Vivian breezed over, greeting us both with a warmth that was slightly implausible. I’m no empath, and I don’t claim to speak Female Subtext, but Vivian’s wide smile and enthusiasm for Ceci seemed a trifle forced.

  To be fair to Vivian, Ceci has in the past officially discharged her Christian obligation to “witness” to Vivian that she herself is a Christian and Christians do not, in fact, believe in New Age stuff. (Who knew?) This was another factoid I could have called to mind before I executed this brilliant plan.

  So there they were, facing off with the fake smiles of battle… when Ceci winced.

  She tried to hide it, but Vivian still saw. And her face went soft.

  Now she was all soothing assurances and auntly bustle. She ushered us back into the break room, and before Ceci knew it, she was cozied up at the cruddy table with a warm cup of tea, and Vivian was at the oven, prepping a tray of blueberry muffins to reheat.

  Ceci eyed the cup with equal parts gratitude and suspicion.

  “It’s just Earl Grey,” I whispered. “She doesn’t do potions or anything. At least, not at the store.”

  “But I do want to help,” said Vivian at the oven. Vivian’s hearing can be astounding. “Besides, I have a hunch you’ve already been considering other… potions.”

  “What?” Ceci glared at me. “Did you text her?”

  “No!” I said.

  “Relax, hon,” Vivian said, as the delicious muffin aroma began to fill the room and seep into my soul. She came and sat across from Ceci, and when she folded her veiny hands on the table, they somehow exuded a gentle power. Even in the crappy fluorescent light, the rough-hewn crystals in her bracelets sparkled.

  Ceci stared at them, alert, like at any moment they might blast out lasers and zap her blind. “I appreciate the tea, Vivian, thank you. But I don’t want…it’s important to me that I don’t…”

  “Do any pagan rituals?” Vivian said. She smiled. “No worries. Let’s just take a breath, okay? Nice and slow.”

  “What? Why?”

  “We’re trying to make space,” Vivian said. “Space to be aware of the pain.”

  “Aware? I am very aware.”

  “Aware of the actual sensations,” Vivian said. Her voice was slowing, soothing. “What do you actually feel? Is it hot? Cold? Stabbing? Dull?”

  Ceci groaned. “You’re making it worse.”

  Vivian nodded. “I know.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Now breathe it in,” Vivian said. “Breathe in the pain.”

  “In?” I interrupted, seriously confused. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Breathe it in and into space, as much space as you can. The blue sky, the galaxy… you have all the space you need.”

  “I thought you breathed in peace and light,” I said, “and breathed the pain out.”

  “You can,” Vivian said. “But for me, what works is breathing out the light… to all sentient beings…”

  “Including cockroaches?” Ceci said. “How is this not some New Age thing?”

  “Ceci, please,” Vivian said. “You can take all these drugs, but you’re afraid it’s a sin to breathe? Did Jesus not make breathing?”

  Ceci glared.

  Then she sighed, and closed her eyes, and took a long, slow breath.

  Her face clenched hard. She whispered, “It hurts.”

  “I know,” Vivian said. “But if you don’t run, if you can just stay… it connects you.”

  Something in Ceci’s hard face gave way. A tremor, like the rustle of a curtain when a window lifts open.

  “Now out,” Vivian said.

  Ceci exhaled with a shudder, and her face looked softer than I’d seen it all day.

  Then it spasmed back into misery.


  “It hurts… more,” Ceci grunted. “I want it to go away.”

  My hopes died. She might suffer forever.

  But before Vivian could answer, another voice called from the front of the store. A woman.

  “Hello?” she said. “Anyone here?”

  It was Rachel. And when she saw me, she lit up and smiled.

  Chapter 47

  I scrambled up and rushed across the store, fully intending to usher Rachel out. She was pretty much the last thing Ceci needed right now, somewhere between “get mugged by an acupuncture supervillain” and “watch a puppy drown.”

  But I hadn’t counted on the beauty rush.

  By the time I made it to Rachel’s perfume zone, what I wound up saying was…

  “Are you okay? I thought you were in jail!”

  She glowed even harder. “Yeah, the fandom posted bail. Chip brought it by, super sweet.”

  “They got you out?”

  “At least for now. Thank God, I spent two nights in there having contractions.” She touched a palm to the bulge beneath her sweater. “Anyway…” She flicked her gaze away, like she was suddenly all super interested in our selection of crystals. “Thanks for the other night. Taking me home.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “No problem.”

  She waited.

  Was she waiting? What was going on here? Besides me nearly floating on adrenalin?

  Was this, thanks and let’s pretend that never happened, that was sheer late-term insanity? Or thanks… and when can I see you?

  Or… was she asking this same question herself?

  Maybe I wasn’t the only one ambivalent here. Maybe it actually mattered what I said next.

  Her wandering eyes must have caught the open door to the break room. She looked startled. “Oh,” she said. “Is that your nurse friend?”

  She looked me full in the face, asking more.

  The rush was an undertow, sucking me down even as I blissed…

  But then I heard the simple question that Vivian had put to Ceci.

  What do you actually feel?

  In all my years of crushing, I’d never quite asked that. And somehow, in the moment, it just seemed right to finally notice what the actual sensations were.

  I know you’re thinking groin, but really, much much more was the cramping in my belly, the racing panic in my chest, the painful sweetness and lift along the skin of my back, my arms, my neck, even the uppermost pinnacle of my scalp… it was like I could feel my brain shudder with the dopamine tingle…