by L E Fraser
He burst into laughter.
There was a knock on the door, and Sam yanked it open to find Jim the coyote and Roger the raccoon standing forlorn on the other side.
“I’m not wearing it,” Reece told Jim.
Jim draped a paw across Reece’s shoulder. “It’s over the top, I’ll give you that. I warned Lisa, but, when she gets an idea, she’s a pit bull with a kitten locked in its jaws.”
“What did you get?” Roger asked Sam as he tugged at the neck of his raccoon sweater.
“A weasel.”
Roger’s groomed eyebrow rose. “An oblique metaphor perchance?”
“Of course it is.” Reece waved his hands at the costumes. “She specifically chose these. It’s an insult.”
“You’re reading too much into this,” Jim said in his persuasive courtroom voice. “You don’t have to wear it. My wife has taken the theme too far. It was poor judgement, not a personal attack. Come on, let’s get a drink.”
Sam wasn’t positive it was unintentional. She ran the weasel costume through her fingers before dropping it to the bed beside Reece’s skunk.
Roger put his hand on her shoulder. “A word before you go, Sam.”
“Sure.”
After Reece left with Jim, Roger said, “I’m concerned about Lisa. She’s acting very disagreeable.”
“I know.”
He fussed with his raccoon gloves. “It started five months ago, after their Christmas party. That’s also when I became aware of the way she interacts with Reece. Lisa doesn’t like him.” He picked up the skunk costume. “This is her way of driving home her point. Did something happen between them?”
Before she could answer, someone started to shout obscenities from downstairs. It sounded like Talia, but Sam wasn’t sure. Alarmed, she followed Roger downstairs. The front door was wide open, and Talia was in the entry, looming over Lisa. Talia’s face was a mask of rage, and Lisa was screaming at her but wasn’t making any sense. Something about not knowing and how it wasn’t her fault.
Party guests stood in the doorway between the front foyer and the living room. Everyone wore shocked expressions, and it stunned Sam to see a few of the women crying. Reece exited the bathroom, looking confused by the crowd of people in the entry.
When Talia saw Reece, she pushed Lisa aside. What Sam glimpsed in the soldier’s eyes terrified her. Not understanding what was going on, she immediately felt a need to protect Reece and stood between him and her friend.
“It was you!” Talia screamed at Reece. “All those walks around the city. You sick motherfucker.”
Jim wrapped his arms around Talia. He was crying. Even as kids, Sam had never seen Jim cry. A ribbon of fear unravelled in her stomach, and a sharp cramp nearly doubled her over. Something had happened. Something terrible.
“I promise it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Reece,” Jim said. “You’re distraught. Let us help you.”
“How could you do this to me, Talia?” Lisa yelled through tears. “How could you say such a terrible thing to me?”
Someone had shut off the music. Stunned servers stood stationary among the sobbing guests.
Sam grabbed Lisa’s upper arm. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Abigail.” Lisa’s voice trembled. “She’s dead.”
“What? How?” Sam’s eyes darted between Lisa and Talia. Shock prevented her from accepting what she’d just heard. “When? I don’t understand.”
“She was pregnant!” Talia screamed, fighting against Jim’s grip. “She killed herself.”
Sam couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt tight, and there was a ringing in her ears. She slid down the wall and landed with a thump on the floor. Reece rushed to her side, helped her up, and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.
His voice was calm—a cop’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Sam. But you know Abby and I were never together that way.”
“She was afraid of men!” Talia screamed. “You’re the only men she’d ever trust. One of you knows who violated her!”
Lisa’s face drained of colour. She was gripping Roger’s hand so tightly he was wincing.
“I know it wasn’t you,” Sam whispered to Reece. “Get rid of everyone. Get them out of here.”
He nodded and left to herd people to the door. Jim dragged Talia into his office. Lisa followed and slammed the door closed behind her.
Sam leaned against the wall, clamping an iron fist around the pain and shock. She’d known something was wrong. Abigail had always been fragile, and Talia’s second deployment had crushed her. The signs of depression were so obvious now.
Talia’s accusations still ringing in her ears, her eyes fell on Roger, sitting on the stairs with his face in his hands. Roger had offered to counsel Abigail four months ago. Disgust and anger took the place of the pain.
No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t have.
But he had before. Years ago, he’d taken advantage of a patient. She’d seen it with her own eyes. He’d lost objectivity and had given in to his attraction, harming his patient in the process. This time it wasn’t just a patient. It was Abigail, whom he’d known for nearly three decades. Why would he develop feelings for her now?
It’s a symptom of physician burnout, a voice whispered in her head. Just like last time.
Reece’s voice drew her from her miserable thoughts. “Babe, Lisa asked that we leave. Jim is trying to talk to Talia and thinks it’s best if everyone goes.”
“I never attended Abigail’s performance,” she said. “I didn’t see her dance with The National Ballet. Now I’ll never see her dance again.”
“I know.”
Tears burned behind her eyes and she pushed him to the door. “Go, I need a minute.”
Reece went outside, and Sam turned to stare at Roger.
His expression was cold as his pale blue eyes held hers. “Accuse me again, Sam, I’ll ruin you.”
Chapter Three
Reece
TWO DAYS HAD passed since Abigail’s funeral, a week since the terrible news. It was two-thirty in the afternoon, and Sam was in bed. The amount she slept worried Reece. She hadn’t cried in front of him, not once. That scared him. Out of desperation, he’d dropped by Roger’s house to ask for help. All he suggested was to listen and not to push her in a direction she wasn’t ready to go. Sam needed to process the grief and work through the steps, Roger had said.
The fact that the psychiatrist was a mess didn’t instill confidence. Something about Roger’s attitude during the short visit made Reece suspicious. It didn’t feel like grief so much as fear, but he didn’t know the man well enough to judge.
Reece didn’t know where Talia was. She’d refused to speak to any of them at the funeral. Cocooned in a shell of anger and grief, the soldier had stood dry-eyed at parade rest during the service. At the end, she’d accepted the ashes without a word and left.
Reece was having his own issues dealing with the suicide. He should have recognized Abigail’s desperation and done something. Intellectually, he understood that suicide was a personal choice that had little to do with anyone else. He’d called a friend at Toronto Police Services and asked for a copy of the Coroner’s findings, and Abigail’s autopsy report had driven home the deliberation behind her act.
She’d slit the inside of both forearms from the heel of her hand to her elbow. There were no tentative, hesitant cuts. The toxicology report noted a high amount of acetylsalicylic acid in her blood. In addition to consuming Aspirin over the course of several weeks to thin her blood, she’d killed herself in a bathtub filled with warm water to increase exsanguination. She’d been nineteen weeks pregnant.
The day before her death, Abigail had packed all her clothes, sorted out her personal belongings, and called Goodwill to pick up everything. She had sold her car two weeks before she died and transferred all her money into a co-signatory account she shared with Talia. Their condo was spotless, and Abigail had paid all the bills. She closed her social media and email accounts. Although
she’d wiped and formatted her computer, police IT specialists recovered the hard drive and found nothing of interest. On the bathroom sink was a copy of a life insurance policy and her will, which she’d had drawn up a month before her death. In the document, she listed the funeral home she’d chosen and had settled the account for her service and cremation. In death, as in life, Abigail hadn’t wanted to be a bother. Everything about her suicide fit Abigail’s meticulous, considerate nature to a T. Everything except for one detail that Reece could not understand—why hadn’t she left Talia a note?
The hardest part for Reece was that he couldn’t talk to anyone about his feelings. Sam and her friends had known Abigail since kindergarten. In his mind, their grief took precedence over his own—he’d known her for six short months.
The one-thousand-square-foot loft felt like a prison cell. The walls were closing in on him. Brandy hadn’t had a decent walk for days, and they would both benefit from getting outside. As Reece attached the leash, the old dog gazed up at him with mournful eyes.
“We’re going to get through this, girl,” he promised. But he wasn’t sure, and Brandy’s head tilt and droopy tail suggested that she wasn’t sure either.
After a long walk, he felt a bit better. As he approached the door to the loft, a long-haired man came down the hall wearing a kimono style robe and a tattered pair of slippers. His eyes were glassy and he stunk of pot.
“Hey man, this your crib?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Got a piece of mail for you. We had a gig in Detroit. Just got back.” He handed Reece a thick, creamy envelope.
Reece thanked him and went inside, hoping Sam would be up and doing something—anything.
She wasn’t. He checked and found her asleep. Strawberry-blond curls stuck to her damp forehead. When he ran his fingers across her cheeks, he felt tears and it broke his heart that she was crying in her sleep.
Back in the kitchen, he glanced at the envelope addressed to him and tried to think of anyone he knew who was getting married. The weight of the stationery implied it was an invitation. No return address on the front. He turned it over. The back was blank. He tore it open, didn’t recognize the handwriting on the letter, and flipped to the last page. His heart stopped and he fell into a chair. Slowly, he shuffled the sheets to the first page. The date on the top was the day before Abigail had killed herself.
Dear Reece,
Thank you for your kindness. For how you never forced me to talk. How you never asked questions or offered advice. How you never touched me, not even gently on my arm. You never made me feel broken. I want you to know how much I looked forward to our Saturday morning market trips and our walks around the city. For those few hours, I was able to forget and to live again.
You are a sweet man, the only man I ever met who never asked for anything from me. You are an accepting man, a man whose personal journey will allow him to understand that my death was inevitable. And so I write to you because these words will not destroy you.
My death will hurt Sam. She will entomb the pain in layers of brick, but acid will erode the stone until her heart is hard with poison. Promise you won’t surrender to her attempts to drive you away, for she loves you and that love frightens her because it makes her vulnerable. You are her salvation and she is yours. Your souls entwine. Please do not give up on each other. Love is a tangled root that twists through the soil in search of nutrients, but it is the foundation of the tree of life.
My shame is no longer a burden too heavy to carry. It’s a palpable entity. The heartbeat relentlessly hammers at me like a hundred drums that beat to placate a vengeful god. The persistent pounding drives me forward to the lips of the abyss. My world has become microscopic, constricting me with bleakness until even dancing has become unbearable. I see only black and crimson when I close my eyes now. I hear only Satan howl as his demons call me over, but I will never break through their line to find peace again.
Unimaginable horrors haunt my dreams, and I understand that, be it on this earth or be it in a different dimension, hell is my destiny. But here on earth, Talia must bear witness. I will not damn my love to stand wretched and consumed by her impotency. With the last of my strength, I will prevent her from pursuing me through the darkness. This is the kindest thing I can do. This is the greatest gift I can offer.
My skin burns from the caress of his hands. I can’t wash the stench of his body from my flesh. At night, I feel his seed inside me and know I’m damned. It was a single second of unbearable loneliness—a tiny moment when my desire to experience something beyond despair ascended in defiance. But I cannot look at the horror through a victim’s eyes this time. I was complacent and I am culpable. I will forever exist behind the silhouette of iniquity, where the light of forgiveness can never reach.
I implore you and Sam to help Talia. She must live and learn to find joy in life. You and Sam survived great tragedy. You both found your way through perdition’s maze. And so I beseech you to revisit the abyss to save my love. Pull Talia from the banks of hell and bring her home. Do everything within your power to give her what she needs to find peace.
With my everlasting gratitude,
Abigail
Reece read the letter three times, shielding it from his tears. The flowery prose that matched Abigail’s love of poetry again showed Reece the determination and planning she had put into her suicide. Now, he thought he might understand why she hadn’t written to Talia. Shame over cheating on her girlfriend had made it impossible. Abigail was asking an objective observer to help her beloved girlfriend understand that shame.
A red mist coated his eyes when his sorrow inexplicably morphed to rage. Some bastard had defiled his friend. Some bastard had betrayed Talia while she served the country.
“What’s that?”
Sam’s voice caused him to jump, and he snatched the pages from the table.
She sat and studied him. A ring of red lined her swollen eyes, and her freckles were brash spots of colour on a face that was gaunt.
He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if he should give her the letter or if it would make things worse. When she plucked the thick envelope from the table, he realized the decision wasn’t his to make. Abigail had made it for him. The only way he could help Sam would be to allow her to read her friend’s final words.
Sam gazed at the writing on the front. Her throat worked and she blinked rapidly. She stared at him with naked desperation, her eyes wide and her pain etching deep furrows in her forehead.
She threw the envelope on the floor, and her eyes dropped to the sheets of paper he clutched in his fist. “I can’t read it. I won’t read it. Don’t ask me.”
He took her hand to prevent her from bolting from the table. “I’m not asking you,” he said. “Abigail is.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Her face became a battleground between her desire to hold onto her friend and her implacable grief that commanded she protect herself from further pain.
“I could read it to you,” he offered, sliding his chair over so he could wrap his arms around her and pull her close.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. They sat together in silence, and Brandy put her snout on Sam’s leg, whimpering in sympathy.
Her throat worked as she repeatedly swallowed, fighting tears. She pulled away and sat rigid on the chair with her shaking hands clasped tight in her lap. “I need to do this alone,” she whispered. “I need you to leave. Please.”
Slowly, he stood and shuffled to the door. Leaving her alone and in pain was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
Chapter Four
Reece
REECE AND BRANDY returned an hour later. No Sam, but a wrinkly mess of creamy stationery was on the table. She had apparently crumpled the pages into a ball, then reconsidered and smoothed them out. The ink had run in places from her tears. The crystal vase from the kitchen island was shattered. Scattered among the shards of glass were bruised hydrangea blossoms. But he heard the sho
wer running in the ensuite bathroom in the bedroom loft above him. And Florence and the Machine played from wireless speakers hidden in the ceiling throughout the thousand-square-foot loft.
Sam’s laptop was on the table. She’d retyped Abigail’s letter in Word, highlighted phrases, and added comments in the margin. Beside I hear only Satan howl as his demons call me over, but I will never break through their line to find peace again was more than just a comment. A whole paragraph read:
Abigail hated red rover. She’d cringe beside me on the playground, terrified they’d call her name. The boys targeted her because she was so tiny. They could always get through the line at her point of defence. The public school banned the game after an asshole broke Abby’s arm when he charged through her. The school suspended Jim for a week because he beat the snot out of him. Lisa said it was the moment she realized she’d marry Jim someday. In her speech at their wedding, Abby said she’d break every bone if it meant her friends found true love.
Reece hadn’t realized that Abigail’s reference in the letter was about the game red rover. The first and last time he’d tried out for high school football in grade nine, the coach had used red rover to pick linebackers. It had been a humiliating experience. Reece hadn’t made the cut and had taken the walk of shame off the field with a broken thumb.
Sam had refused to speak at the funeral, saying she didn’t want to remember anything—the good or the bad. She’d outright banned Reece from speaking Abigail’s name again. That pitiful paragraph of type, recounting a mixture of good and bad memories, signified hope. To Reece, it meant that Sam was ready to face her grief.
When she came down the ladder staircase from the elevated bedroom suite, she looked better. Not great, but better. At least she was dressed. Her curly hair was wet, and her T-shirt showed off the hours she spent in the gym.
In the kitchen, she put a T-Disc in the Tassimo and some bread in the toaster. When her coffee and toast were ready, she crossed the room to the living space that ran in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the south wall.
