“You identified the man responsible for the shooting before you died in the hospital,” the man said. “We just have to make sure we get everything taken care of so there are no legal loopholes.”
Megan stood up and walked to her bedroom. She wondered what she had done. Everything and everyone she loved was gone. She wondered if they mourned her. Would Will go back to Emily? She wished he could go with her wherever she was going. She didn’t want to be alone. She knew she couldn’t do that to him, though. He still had two little girls who needed him, and he needed them. Part of her wished she really had died in that horrible restaurant. The noise of the guns popped in her head. The smell of the garlic and alcohol overtook her senses. She began to cry harder. Think of something happy. She thought of the first dinner she had with Will in his apartment. The wine, the Italian food - no, not Italian food. She put her hands on her head. She forced the memory of their carpet picnic into her mind. Will’s smile and delight at the fort almost made her smile. She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t go back to the comfort of her parents’ house and her old room. She couldn’t sit outside a café on a Sunday and talk with Derrick about who was cheating on whom in Hollywood. She let out a small moan and rolled onto her side. She hugged her knees up to her chest and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Seven
Megan Rice was a shell. She woke up in the morning, she went to her job teaching English to high school kids, and she went home. Her home was a one bedroom apartment on the third floor of a no frills three-story red brick building. She hadn’t bothered to collect many things. She had a sofa, a side table, a television and a treadmill in the living room. The dining room had a table with a computer on it and a single chair. Her bedroom had a bed, nightstand and a chest of drawers. Her long, beautiful brown hair was now shoulder length and blonde. Her once stylish clothes that fit in so well in New York were replaced by mid-west casual wear. She didn’t smile much. She talked at school in class when she had to teach. She had no friends. She had no joy. She had no life.
Megan turned toward the class, who stared at her. She wondered how long she had been looking at the board. She cleared her throat. “I know we have a long weekend, and you really don’t want any homework.” The faces had a look of anticipation. She had intended to add a “but” to that sentence and hand out a writing assignment. She took a deep breath. “So, enjoy it. Do something you’ve always wanted to do - as long as it’s legal - and I’ll ask you to write something when you get back.” The bell sounded, and she added, “Have fun.” The kids crowded out of the room, and she sat down at her desk. She opened her desk and took out a stack of papers from a spelling test earlier in the day. She was probably the only teacher in the school that gave students their papers graded with comments the day after they handed them in to her. The words on the first test started to run together. That’s it, she thought. “I have to get out of here,” she said. She put the tests in her bag, got out her purse and locked her desk.
The drive home was only 15 minutes. She was packed and back in her car in 20 minutes. She wasn’t sure where she was going, and she wasn’t even sure she was coming back. At the airport, she parked in the long-term lot and caught a shuttle to the terminals. She chose an airline at random and walked to the desk.
“I need a ticket for a plane leaving within the next half hour,” she said to the agent. The agent looked puzzled. Megan thought about what she was asking, and it sounded crazy even to her. “I just need to get away for a little while.”
“I understand,” the clerk said with a comforting smile as if she knew exactly what plagued the young woman. Megan rolled her eyes to herself. How nice it would be to want to get away for a weekend because the kids were driving her crazy, or an argument with a boyfriend or just a rash, PMS-induced decision. The clerk tapped keys on the keyboard. Not hard like Burt Newman, but more quietly as Kristine used to do. She found a flight landing near a winter resort in New York. “It’s very quaint. My husband took me there for our anniversary a few years back. You can make New York in a day if you decide to go into the city,” she added. “There’s a shuttle to the resorts when you get off the plane.” Megan stood motionless for a moment. Was it crazy to go so close to those she knew? She knew she shouldn’t, but the temptation to be closer to Will was too much for her. Who looked for a dead woman, anyway? “When would you like to return?” Megan thought for a moment.
“Monday,” she said. She would be fine, and she would be back in time to hear of her students’ weekend, she thought. The clerk gave her some more recommendations for her stay before she left the counter.
She made it through security, grabbed a sandwich out of a machine for dinner and arrived at the flight’s terminal with a few minutes to spare. She handed her small bag off to the flight attendant and boarded. It was a small plane with one seat on one side of the aisle and two seats on the other. She put her backpack under her seat and buckled her seatbelt. Just before the door was closed, a handsome gentleman in a suit, carrying a trench coat climbed on board and took his seat. Megan just barely noticed him. He sat a row behind her on the other side of the aisle. She nestled into her seat and leaned her head against the blue fabric. Flying used to make her nervous. That was when she had something to lose.
She looked out the window and watched the ground move slowly past her. This is one of the most impulsive and potentially stupid things she had done as Megan Rice. She was going toward the place from which she was forbidden. She decided she should get off the plane and go home to her one bedroom apartment where it was safe. She shifted in her seat. It was too late now - the plane was taxiing down the runway. She closed her eyes, put her head back on the seat and imagined how her life could be. She pulled a tie clip out of her pocket and rubbed the smooth gold with her thumb. She had taken it from Will’s apartment the day she left to meet Mrs. Rawlings’ lawyer. It’s the only thing from her old life she had. An agent had returned it to her while she was in the safe house - probably because he felt sorry for her.
Two years had passed since she was Kristine. She wondered if she would be married to Will. She wondered what would have happened in her career. She never even saw her story in print. Did it win anything? She couldn’t help but laugh a little to herself. How ironic. The story cost her everything, and she didn’t even see it. Ralston Rawlings ended up going to prison for his part in the shootout, but his father somehow managed to escape prison time. All in all, it wasn’t that surprising that Robert Rawlings walked around a free man - his investors and board of directors ranged from high-powered business people to congress people to judicial members, none of whom wanted to be tied to a criminal. Megan shook her head in disbelief. He was the criminal, but she was the prisoner.
The plane bounced as it landed and roused Megan from her daydreams. It was almost nine o’clock Eastern Time. She set her watch forward as the plane taxied to the terminal. The airport was beyond small. It resembled an outhouse more than an airport. She avoided eye contact with the few other passengers and walked down the plane’s stairs to the tarmac. She waited for her bag to be unloaded and then headed for the small building to get some information on a shuttle to the hotel the ticket agent recommended. She waited outside alone in the cold air for the van. She took a seat in the first row and looked out the window as others came out of the warmth of the building, climbed on and took their seats.
The shuttle wound up the mountain in the dark. There were three other people on the shuttle with her, but she didn’t acknowledge them. She knew from the voices there were a young couple, probably newlyweds, and a man, probably there on business. She sat behind the driver and watched the lines on the road pass. Sleep began to creep up on her. Although she had only crossed one time zone, the day had been long and exhausting.
The van reached the little town on the mountain shortly after ten o’clock. It stopped to drop off the couple at one of the first hotels. She waited in the van. Her hotel was the second stop, and since the man in the back of the van
got off with her, she assumed it was the last stop. She hiked her bag onto her shoulder and found the reception desk.
“I don’t have a reservation,” she said.
“Oh, okay. Lucky for you we had a couple of cancellations,” the woman behind the counter said. “Smoking or non?”
“Non,” Megan replied looking in her purse for a credit card.
“Okay,” the woman said. Megan didn’t even bother to look for the woman’s name tag. “How many nights?”
“Three,” Megan said.
“Okay. How would you like to pay for this?”
Megan handed her a credit card. She signed the receipt and took the room card. She walked through the lobby. There was a fireplace with several couches and chairs around it. Beyond the lobby area were a ski shop, which was closed, and a bar and a restaurant. Everything seemed rustic - made of wood. She found the elevators and rode up to her floor. She turned on the light, put her bags on the desk and looked around the room. It was quiet. She sighed. All those miles to escape loneliness and boredom and here she was - same problem, different state. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, slid out of her clothes and into bed.
* * * * *
The sun peeked through an open slot in the curtains. Megan rolled over to see the clock, which read 8:42. She thought about going back to sleep, but decided to see what the town had to offer. After all, that was the reason she left the comfort of her apartment. She showered, put on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved white T-shirt, a royal blue sweatshirt and her water-proof snow shoes. She dried her now blonde hair and put on a little makeup. Although she would have preferred a weekend on a beach, she was used to cold weather. She looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t think she was as attractive as she used to be - maybe because her green eyes didn’t gleam with life anymore. They actually resembled the lifeless eyes of the young bartender who helped save her life. No… She wouldn’t let herself think about that - not this weekend.
She put her room card, Will’s tie clip, some money, a credit card and her ID in her jeans pocket and perched a pair of sunglasses on her head. She left her room and made her way to the bar/restaurant she had seen last night. She found a table for two by the window over-looking the frozen lake. There were some skaters on the ice. Being President’s Day weekend, the hotel and town weren’t as crowded as they may be during a holiday when more people were off of work. A waiter approached her with a menu and a coffee pot.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Hi,” she said taking the menu.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” she said, and he turned the cup on the table over and filled it. Everything was white - the crisp linen tablecloth, the cup, the saucer and the backdrop out the window.
“I’ll give you a couple of minutes to look over the menu,” he said.
“That’s okay - I don’t need it. I’ll just have some wheat toast and a scrambled egg,” she said handing him the menu.
“Sure thing. Can I bring you a newspaper while you wait?” he asked. She thought for a second. Was she close enough to get the Chronicle? It was a nationally renowned paper. Will would be in his office at this time of the morning going over yesterday’s issue.
“Um, okay,” she said. She waited for the waiter to walk away and glanced around the restaurant. There weren’t many people, but most were in couples or families. There was a lone man across the room. It was the man from the plane last night. His salt and pepper hair was the only thing she could see as he read a paper and drank coffee. He seemed refined in his manners and his dress - like he came from money. He reminded her of Will - not so much in looks, but in the classy way he moved. He must have been the man in the van with her last night. She had a desire to introduce herself to the stranger but decided against it. Kristine may have marched right up to him and offered to buy him breakfast if she had the urge. Megan tried to melt into her surroundings.
She turned her head and watched the people on the ice. A man was helping a toddler learn how to skate. She smiled as she watched them. The waiter returned with her newspaper. It wasn’t the Chronicle. Her heart flip-flopped in relief and disappointment. She read the paper with the eye of an English teacher and the heart of a reporter. She critiqued the stories and thought about what Kristine would have done differently. Her toast and eggs arrived before she could make her way through the second page. She folded the paper so she could continue reading while she ate.
There were stories about people dying, and she wondered if they were really dead. There were stories about tragedies all over the country and the world, and she wondered how much had been brought on the people by their own actions. Kristine was more of an optimist, but Megan was a cynic. She pushed the paper aside in disgust - mostly of herself. She finished her breakfast, signed the slip to charge it to her room and wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. She put the napkin on the table, breathed a sigh of resignation and stood up to leave. As she began across the dining room, she thought she caught the man with the salt and pepper hair watching her. It made her self-conscious and scared, so she walked a little faster. She tried to look straight ahead. When she finally made it to the lobby of the hotel, she decided to take a stroll through the little town.
The sun was warm, and the air was cold. They seemed to balance each other eliminating the need for a coat. She saw her reflection in windows, and she still didn’t recognize herself at times. The blonde hair still made her do a double take. Megan browsed through some shops, but any time she considered making a purchase, she thought about how she may have to leave it behind some day. She would put whatever it was back on a shelf or a rack and leave quietly. She found a small book store, and bought a magazine and a book - a romance no less. Megan really was a different person from Kristine. Kristine Larkin would have rolled her eyes at someone who lost themselves in a romance novel. The magazine she purchased was news oriented, so she reasoned that Megan was just more balanced than Kristine. Maybe she was or maybe that’s what she told herself to feel better.
She had walked to both ends of the town, which wasn’t all that large. There was a coffee shop about two doors down from her hotel, so she back-tracked and bought a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. She returned to the hotel lobby and forced herself to sit in front of the fire. Her initial thought was to go to her room and lie in the bed to read. She spent her days and nights at home doing just that or else she would get on her treadmill and run until she couldn’t run any more. When she first bought the treadmill, she could only manage five or ten minutes before her lungs and legs gave up on her. After two years, she sometimes lost track of time and ran for hours. She was pretty sure that she could run one of those marathons now. Of course, Kristine thought anyone who wanted to run 26 miles was on the verge of insanity or was a masochist. Kristine avoided pain. Megan almost enjoyed pain, because she was numb most of the time. Feeling anything reminded her she was still technically alive.
The sofa was brown and overstuffed. She put her cup on the wood coffee table in front of the sofa and sank into the couch. Feeling self-conscious about her romance novel, she pulled the news magazine from the bag and began to read it. There were stories and editorials that stirred her insides. She wanted to find a computer and write. Sometimes she would sit for hours writing in her apartment. She deleted most of what she wrote just in case anyone ever broke into her apartment. She didn’t want to reveal anything about herself. She even deleted the history on her web searches so no one could view them. She had always wanted to know what became of her story, but she never could work up the courage to find out. She tried to keep the memories of the story and the day she died buried deep. She would only let herself think about good memories or what possibilities Kristine’s personal life had held.
The traffic in the lobby began to pick up as the afternoon turned to early evening. Megan finished her hot chocolate, which was now cold, then the magazine. Her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten lunch, so Megan went upstairs to chang
e for dinner. She put the magazine and book on the desk in her room. The couple on the book looked so beautiful and passionate as she ran her hand over the cover hoping some of their happiness would transfer to her even if only for a second. She was suddenly inspired to try to look pretty for no one other than herself.
Megan showered again. This time she spent some time on her hair rather than just blowing it dry with her fingers. She used a brush to add some body to it and then pulled the sides up into a clip. Makeup was something with which she hadn’t taken much time since her days in New York. Derrick and Kristine would sometimes go to upscale makeup stores to try all the latest colors and products. Megan bought her makeup from one of those huge stores where you could get your tires rotated and buy laundry detergent. She managed as well as she could with the minimal products she had in her tiny cosmetics bag. Her green eyes were painted with a light brown eye shadow, lined and smudged with black eyeliner, and her long lashes were brushed with black mascara. She added some color to her cheeks and a hint of a nude color on her lips. She stepped back from the mirror and examined the person looking back at her. Although she admitted to herself this was the best she had looked in years, she still felt a little silly.
She had packed the only dress she owned. It was the stereo-typical little black dress for all occasions - short sleeves, round neck, fitted at the waist, and it fell to just above her knee. She could wear it to a funeral or a wedding if she knew anyone well enough to attend either of those events. She didn’t know if she was too over-dressed for February at a ski resort, but she didn’t care. The most important thing to her was to feel good again. She put on her black heels with the pointy toes and sling backs and looked in the mirror. There was something missing, but she knew no amount of makeup or a little black dress was going to put the light back in her eyes. She sighed, put her room key, lipstick and a few other items in the small black purse she had brought and went downstairs.
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