by Paul Sating
Then, Janis blinked, clarity returning to her eyes. "They circled me, backed me into a corner, called me names. A few tugged my hair, yanked it. Pain exploded each time they'd pull and spin me by it. Before I could do anything, before I could even grab a hold of my own hair to stop it from hurting so much, another pulled a clump from the other side and twisted me. They did it over and over. Pushing me. Jabbing into my sides. One girl even shoved a handful of dirt down my throat and into my nose. I fell. They circled, mocked, yelled at me for being such a plain Jane. Over and over. One of the girls, the biggest, pulled me up and shoved me. I tripped, hit my head on a picnic table bench, and was knocked unconscious," Janis paused, biting her lip. "I came to in the front office; threw up a few times. The Sister was so pissed because she had to clean it up."
Janis's shoulders jerked with a short, bitter laugh. Angelique didn't join her. This wasn't funny. This was pain, and Janis was sharing it here, at a coffee shop. The most vulnerable moment of their friendship, shared over five dollar coffee that tasted like metallic shit. Angelique just wanted to hug Janis, to take away all the pain. At least it looked like Janis' migraine wouldn't take root.
"My mother and father showed up before I came to," Janis murmured. "Mom yelled at me all the way home."
Angelique took a deep breath. "What did the doctor say? Were you concussed?"
Janis sparked a pained laugh. "Oh, they didn't take me to the hospital. It was much more important for my mother to get me home, out of sight of her church friends. You can imagine the mess I was. And my father disappeared to go 'make things right.'"
"What the hell does that mean?"
"He never said," Janis shrugged. "I was traumatized and in a lot of pain. Dizzy all night; horribly dizzy and unstable. I couldn't even go to the bathroom by myself. My mother made me piss in a Tupperware she slid under my covers. I don't really remember much besides that. It's like—lke it's all faded now."
"Girl, that's horrible," Angelique risked another chance to lay a hand on Janis'. This time, Janis didn't pull away. It wasn't always easy to get inside Janis's protective zone, not even for her. "I'm sorry, Janis. I had no idea you went through stuff like that. You had it rough."
"Who hasn't?"
It felt like the right time to leverage some levity, to bring Janis out of the dark place she was in. Experience taught her, once Janis began descending, it took an army and a year to pull her back up. "So, Jane, huh? I don't think I can call you that."
Janis smiled a sad smile. "That was a lifetime ago. I wouldn't want you to. It would bring back too many bad memories."
"I get it," Angelique replied. "It's just weird. I thought I knew everything about you."
The sadness lingered in Janis' eyes. "No one knows everything about another person. We all have secrets, Angelique."
17
Destiny is pre-ordained.
A legacy is carved in the skin of victims.
The time for the next in the order was near.
18
The coffee run helped.
Janis always wanted and rarely had someone who loved her like Angelique. Only wanting to be accepted, she was instead a neglected survivor of a shattered family. Angelique possessed the ability to remind her that she was okay being who she was, that attempting to be anyone different wasn't only a self-inflicted insult, but unnecessary. No one except her own father had given her such a sense of validation and, in his absence, Angelique had often become a surrogate cheerleader.
The downside to Angelique's level of caring was the amount of time it required. Time she didn't have. Sitting in a coffeehouse for two hours, processing everything, from the blowup with Branson to childhood trauma, helped lower her anxiety, but it didn't do much in terms of getting the job done.
As the office emptied for the evening, Janis stayed behind, organizing her research notes. By the time she exited the building it was after 9 PM. The city approached another weekday bedtime.
Janis adjusted her purse and carrier bag, the straps intertwining, pressing down on her dampening blouse. The night was thick with humidity, layering her skin with an insufferable clamminess, making it feel like it was wrapped in a wet washcloth.
Janis groaned as she crossed the street to the temporary parking lot. Her car sat, hundreds of yards away, all by itself, reminding her that her permanently-employed peers were already done with their dinners, showers, and laying out of outfits for the morning. And she hadn't yet gotten away from work. The long walk didn't help her mood improve.
Hopefully, Memphis PD would allow them to park in the paper's parking lot tomorrow.
She stepped onto the sidewalk bordering the vacant lot. In the distance, a train whistle cut through the night.
A rock-on-rock clack sounded underneath the whistle.
From the unlit lot.
Her throat seized.
The sporadic streetlights failed to reach beyond a body-length or so into the vast area. The rest of the lot was hidden in an impenetrable darkness, a cloak that refused to reveal the source of the sound.
She tried to calm down, telling herself it could be a kid screwing around or a homeless person traipsing through the lot. Equally possible, her exhaustion might have led her to hearing things. Regardless, Janis picked up her stride.
Staying late wasn't what she planned to do, but she also hadn't planned on Branson being horrible and having to put him in his place. Sitting with Angelique and vomiting her entire childhood hadn't been on the agenda either. Her consequence? Walking dark streets alone.
The car was a hundred yards away. Close, but not close enough. Crunching of feet-on-gravel came from the vacant lot now, confirming her suspicions that the lot wasn't empty. This was not a symptom of exhaustion. It was real.
Striding faster.
The pursuing steps grew quicker, closer.
Fifty yards.
She swore a shape moved in darkness. The only thing stopping her from screaming was the knowledge she had a chain-link fence separating them. But it didn't stop the distance between her pursuer from shortening.
Janis gripped the carrier bag and purse combo closer, tucking it under her arm, lengthening her strides. Just short of a run, he kept pace.
Closing in.
Janis broke into a sprint, reaching into her purse and blindly searching for the car keys. Her fingers fumbled with lipstick, makeup, her cell phone. Always vital, they were junk now, interfering with finding the one thing that could save her. Digging deeper, fingers scrambling, she finally heard the comforting, familiar clink of metal on metal. Snatching the set, Janis ran her thumb around their diverse shapes, searching for the recognizable one belonging to the car.
Crunching. Closer.
Ten yards.
Janis neared hyperventilation.
Footsteps neared too.
She rounded the trunk of the car, adding the vehicle to the chain-link fence separation. Almost dropping the keys, Janis found the correct one, unlocked the door, and jumped in. Punching the door lock, she only breathed again after hearing the locks engage. Glancing up to see where her stalker was, she saw him closing in on the chain-link fence.
Using her free hand to assist in finding the ignition without having to look for it, she slid the key in and cranked the car to life.
The man on the other side of the fence, still protected by the night, watched as she kicked up dirt and rock, reversing out of the parking spot and into the road without regard for traffic. Thankfully, the road was empty.
Janis cried all the way home.
***
Pacing in her small living room, avoiding the tightly packed furniture, Janis held the recorder to her mouth.
The recording would be shit, but her pulse pounded and breath refused to come. She was seeing spots but couldn't calm down enough to slow her breathing. If she was lucky, the recording wouldn't be crowded out with her breathy noise and would still be transcribable. "It—it's 9:30," her voice shook, "and, there was a man in the vacant lot next to t
he paper. Following me. Tracking me. The faster I moved, th—the faster he moved. Stalking me! Fucking stalking me!" The tears came quickly and easily. "I—I couldn't see him clearly. It was too dark to make out any features. Who the fuck was it?"
She collapsed onto the couch, the cushion sagging under her. "Stalking me. God! And, of course, the damn cop protecting the crime scene was on the other side of the building! If something happened, he would have never reached me in time. That wasn't fucking okay! Not fucking okay!" She was screaming now. "Who the fuck was that? And how dare the paper put me at fucking risk! My safety. As if any of those motherfuckers put themselves in harm's mother fucking way! Oh no, not them! Not that piece of shit Branson either! His pristine choir boy ass was probably soaking in a salt bath. That stupid sonofabitch!"
She put a hand to her chest. Breath became difficult. But words, emotions, surged forward. "Mother fucking stalking me! And I can't tell Monica. No way. She'll pull me from the story. This is my last shot in Memphis. Probably last opportunity in the industry." A bitter sound exploded from her. "Nothing, absolutely nothing, can interfere with what I need to do, what I have to finish. I've got to nail this. I just have to. Whoever that was, he—he didn't—well, I'm okay. And now I'm ready. I'll keep Angelique with me from now on and I'll leave when others leave."
Janis closed her eyes, focusing on the rise and fall of diaphragm breaths. Everything slowed, the world dulled. The recorder was back at her lips. "The letter, the one Marshall's guys snagged from the scene this morning, nothing's come out of it yet. They'll be doing forensics for a while still, but a lot can still happen. A lot can change. I'll keep my ears to the ground. Stay close to Marshall to get the latest as it comes out. This is my story. No one is taking it away and no one is going to scare me off it."
19
"Yes, I'm sure of it," Janis said.
Angelique believed her. Even from the other end of a phone conversation, Janis conveyed a chilling confidence. "That's scary, girl," Angelique admitted. "Why did you wait so long to tell me?" Even though she was used to Janis being overly protective, this was different. This was important, the type of important that should have led Janis to calling her immediately.
"Promise to not saying anything," Janis begged.
Early in their relationship, Angelique learned that Janis had issues being vulnerable with others. But Janis also rarely recognized vulnerability in other people. To hear her friend nearing the precipice of pleading was strange.
"What?" Angelique asked. "Not say anything? Are you nuts? Of course I'm going to say something! Why wouldn't I? Who knows what the hell that creep wanted? Maybe he's just screwing with you? Maybe he was just some homeless guy on a trip? Are you willing to take that chance?" Angelique paused, waiting for a reaction from Janis. When none came, she continued, "Tell me you're not! Seriously Janis, this might be the guy. The Memphis murderer? For all you know, maybe he was scoping you out? Those sick fuckers do that! Remember what Marshall said? The fucker left the finger at the paper with a note promising there would be another victim!"
Janis' calm reply only frustrated Angelique more. "I'm sure it was just some creep. Like you said, probably just a homeless guy. Did you think he could have been looking for a few bucks so he could eat?"
Angelique pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at it as if she'd accidentally picked up a wolf spider instead. "Stop minimizing! I'll tell you what's happening. Your ass isn't working late anymore, that's what."
Janis snickered even thought this wasn't funny. "I've already come to that conclusion and, in case you haven't noticed, I haven't been for the past few days. Not since it happened." Silence. Angelique lost in thought, unsure how to respond to her friend's casual disregard to the seriousness of the situation. After a few nebulous seconds, Janis spoke again, this time with the decency to not sound flippant. "What is it you're not saying? I can feel it, Angelique. Right there on the tip of your tongue, isn't it?"
"Am I that transparent?"
"How about we agree that I get you? On a deep level," Janis said, dismissively. "Seriously, what's wrong?"
What was wrong? Her head was abuzz with possibilities, all of them equally scary. The curse of being an adult babysitter. Kids, though she swore to never have them, were bad enough. That, she'd learned babysitting her nieces. But the world was much more complex when adults refused to make beneficial decisions for themselves and someone had to step in. Exhausting. But she cared too much to not do it. Janis deserved that someone in her life.
"This," she started. "It's got me thinking. If that blowup hadn't happened, we wouldn't have taken that long lunch to process it. If we hadn't done that, you wouldn't have had to stay late to catch up. And if you hadn't stayed late, you wouldn't have had to walk to your car in the dark with some creep following you. I don't know. I sort of feel responsible."
"Why? You didn't do anything wrong."
I didn't do anything, Angelique thought, that's the problem. "I shouldn't have let Branson push your buttons. I know what he can be like. He was bound to say something stupid before too long and I'm actually surprised it took this long. He's like that when his brain switches off and he lets his emotions get the better of him. Monica has had problems with him for years because he can't keep his feelings and mouth in check. It was coming and I should have anticipated it. I let you down."
"Seriously, there's nothing to apologize for," Janis said. "Nothing you could have done. Really. It's okay."
Confidence seeped from the comment. Now might be her chance, Angelique realized. It would take tact, especially with Janis. But this might be her now or never. "Honey, I didn't say anything yesterday because you'd already been shit on enough, but," she took a long exhale, "you haven't been going to therapy or staying on your meds, have you?"
Defensiveness knew no respite, edging Janis' voice. "Why would you say that?"
"Don't hate me," Angelique grimaced. This was about to get ugly, really ugly. She knew Janis well enough to know that, well, she thought she had until yesterday. "Please, try to stay calm. But, I called your mother last night."
She yanked the phone away at Janis's screech. "You what? Why? Why would you do that!"
"She told me about the box," Angelique blurted. "Why didn't you tell me about it and what it had to do with your father or all the shit that happened? She said that's why you keep that box, the one you threw the fit over when we stopped by your mom's house. After all these years, you still keep it, because of your father, right? Why? What's in it? I'm your girl. Why didn't you tell me when I asked when I knew it upset you?"
"Because it's none of your business."
Angelique swore the phone grew colder in her hands.
"Yeah, well I'm your best friend," Angelique pointed her finger at nothing in particular. Even though Janis couldn't see her gesture it made her feel better. "I'm the one you lean on when things aren't going right. The one you call in the middle of the night after yet another one-night stand blows up in your face. Who you cry to when the world is caving in around you because you're not doing what you're supposed to be doing to help yourself! So you'll excuse me for being more than a little invested in your well-being, okay?" She paused, taking a breath to calm her jittery heartbeat. "I care about you, Janis. I love you. Remember? It's me who will be sitting by your side in that retirement home. Who else is going to help me hit on all the nurses if not you? We've had our golden years planned out for half a decade now. And I want to make sure you are there with me. And you won't be if you don't take care of yourself."
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Angelique played with a strand on her shirt while she waited. Patience was the key now.
"Okay," the reply was soft, humble. "So I've been a little off."
"Try unfaithful?"
Janis grunted. It wasn't a frustrated or disagreeable sound, but more like a self-effacing one. "Weird sentiment, but, yeah, maybe I haven't been as faithful," Janis struggled with the word, "to my medication regi
men or going to appointments as I should be. But I'm better. I've been feeling better."
More of Janis projecting her strong facade for the world to revel in. Angelique wasn't falling for it. "And that's exactly why you're supposed to be even more diligent," she pressed. "Jesus, take care of yourself; I may not always be here to do it for you."
"I know," came the ambiguous reply. Emotional detachment was her self-preservation tactic of choice.
They spent a few inconsequential minutes wrapping up, none of which helped Angelique feel better about Janis' admission or omission. When they hung up, Angelique swayed as the queasiness of guilt coiled in her gut.
Again.
How many more chances did she have?
20
In parenthood, there was being nosy and then there was wanting to be involved to an inappropriate degree in your child's life.
Lastly, was downright invasiveness.
Pam Herring, in Janis' eyes, was in the Hall of Fame of the latter.
Janis didn't mind people caring about her, especially since it was so rare. The few who genuinely did, like Angelique, were people she found herself gravitating toward, always on-guard because even those types of people lost sight and stepped over the line too often. Her mother was the champion of line crossing.
How she thought talking to Angelique about the box was appropriate was beyond Janis. Never in a million years was that the right thing to do. Mothers didn't do that to their daughters. They protected their children instead of throwing them into the pit to be devoured. That was a mother's job, but no one ever told her own mother. But it had been done, without regard or respect for Janis and her wishes. Pam had stomped all over Janis' autonomy, determining what was best without taking a goddamn second to ask.
Janis stomped around the house as she waited for her mother to pick up. The ringing stopped and the earpiece filled with a scratching noise as Pam fumbled with the phone. When she finally spoke, it was obvious from the air of superiority that she knew she was in trouble with her daughter. "Hello Janis," Pam said. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"
