Kiss Her Goodbye: Thriller/Romance with a shocking twist

by Kirsten Mitchell

  A new feeling of dread that was slightly different than all the other feelings of dread Mia had grown accustomed, came alive and became part of her now. This feeling took a seat next to the other negative feelings in the soup of misery that was her psyche.

  “What kind of emergency?” Glenda asked him and then looked at Mia for suggestions. Mia shrugged, helpless. Glenda continued, “Let’s just say she is going through some grieving issues regarding the loss of her son. If you could just come over, just as a friend, and let us know if there’s anyone you could recommend, that would be great.”

  Glenda cupped her palm over the phone mouthpiece and whispered to Mia, “He said he’ll be right over.” She pinched her eyes closed, clenched her fists and stomped her feet with delight.

  Great, Mia sighed into the cold hollows of her heart. Welcome to your new worst nightmare. She got up and made her way to Brendan’s bedroom and fell to a cross-legged position on the floor, tugging a teddy bear to her heart.

  The dreams about the cabin were coming back with full force these days. When Brendan was just four years old, he had told her his life plan was to retire when he was twelve and live in her grandfather’s cabin. She’d taken him fishing there ever since he was two and he’d developed a deep connection to the place. Now that Brendan would be twelve, if he was alive—of course he was alive. She admonished herself for even considering otherwise. Now that he would be twelve, the dreams of him being at the cabin haunted her. But perhaps it was a delusion just like every other.

  Her gaze snapped toward the window. A flicker of light outside caught her attention and the strangest sensation sank through her. It was like she was being watched by someone.

  She crossed the room and drew the blue drapes to the side. The street was empty. Pools of yellow light from the streetlamps shone on the clean streets. The only movement was a white hydrangea bush across the street that trembled, probably because of the wind.

  It had to be grief-induced paranoia, she told herself. Nobody was watching her, just like nobody was leaving her notes and Brendan was not haunting her dreams, asking her to meet him at the cabin. Barter and Glenda were right. She needed a shrink, and pronto.

  *******

  Goodness jellybeans, I think I need to just calm down right now. Nate Rapple's entire body twitched with pleasure and fear.

  He anchored into position, crouched low in the white thick hydrangea bushes across the street from Mia Floyd’s house. Clasped to his eyes were a tiny pair of his grandmother’s binoculars, which he usually only saved for operas. But the occasion today called for something far more important than the opera. They’d had been a gift from the old lady. He still remembered the insulting card she’d included with the gift. A handwritten plea to get psychiatric help and perhaps some medication too. “Find some healthier hobbies,” she had added in the P.S. line.

  Nate locked his view on the living room window. He could see Glenda the Good Bitch and Mia through the milky glass. Talking the way women always talk. Their faces deformed with great emotion. Glenda, with her red hair and forceful enthusiasm, moving aggressively around the cluttered room. Mia just looked sad. Glenda called somebody on her cellphone and Mia retreated to her dead child’s bedroom. Watching their silent argument excited him.

  Nate took out his notebook to document these details in bullet form.

  He’d been keeping these notes for one year now, ever since he first learned that the YouTube superstar, Glenda the Good Bitch, lived in his hometown.

  He had made watching GTGB his religion. Her blood-red hair, doll face, and sassy way of speaking taunted somersaults out of his stomach. Everything about her stiffened him with fear and lust.

  For months, Nate had hesitated to write a comment on her channel. He needed to find that delicate, crisp line between sounding mundane and needy. He wanted to craft the perfect three-sentence phrase that would make her instantly recognize him as someone different from her other blathering fans. Someone more insightful and worthy of worshipping her. He also wanted to casually mention that he lived in her same town as so to indirectly suggest they should hook up sometime. But he was hoping she would be the one to ask for that because he didn’t dare insult her with any such proposition and risk being blocked.

  When Nate had finally crafted the perfect comment to send to Glenda, which suggested she change her name from Glenda the Good Bitch to Glenda the Good Queen, he hit send, his heart exploding into a firework display of dread and anticipation.

  But she didn’t respond.

  Weeks went by and…nothing. His comment disappeared down into her channel with thousands of other comments she received every day. He’d even mailed her gifts, one time a beautiful bouquet of adorable stuffed mice—anything to get her attention. But with each passing week of this abusive silence from Glenda the Good Bitch—a Bitch indeed, apparently—a new type of rage flourished inside of Nate. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He hated this feeling and knew of only one way to make it stop.

  A white hydrangea swung down in front of his binoculars, blocking his view. He swatted it away with his palm, and the smell of ammonia curled up from his hands. He'd used ammonia earlier that day to try and wash away the dirty feeling that seeped in his soul.

  It was getting dark outside, but not dark enough to completely cloak him in the shroud of secrecy he’d been pining for in the hydrangea bush.

  I am not a freak.

  My grandmother is wrong about that.

  I am just a curious man.

  A flash of light caught his eye from the side. Blue and red lights throbbed along the street. He knew that car. A cop broad parked her car along the side of the street and was looking with a bland angry expression at Glenda and Mia’s house. Her male partner was sipping from a paper cup while he scanned the street with his dark eyes, the way a bandit scours the streets for weak-looking broads to mug.

  Goodness jellybeans…

  Nate recognized that butch cop with the manly hairstyle. Constable Penelope Barter. She was the one who caught him outside a Botox clinic with both hands down his pants. He never forgave her for barging in on his privacy like that.

  Nate pulled back deeper into the white flowers and pressed his spine against the brick wall. He dropped the binoculars down the front of his pants.

  A glistening red mustang with a sick beat thumping from the stereo cruised up the street past the police car.

  It was his therapist, Dr. Lawson.

  *******

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Leo pulled his car into Mia’s curved and sloping driveway. Too focused on the distressed phone call he’d received from Mia’s roommate, he didn’t realize he’d just cruised past Constable Barter parked on the street.

  Getting out of his car, he bounded up the peach cobblestone driveway. It was lined by a gray stone wall and bright assortment of flowers. He brushed his hand along the tops of one of the fat green bushes that hugged the path.

  He noted how beautiful Mia’s yard was. Clearly, she’d spent a great deal of time tending to keep it this way. It looked nothing like the hoarded mess Nate had described to him. Obviously, the rumors about her house being a pigsty were not true.

  He remembered the first time he’d met Mia, when they were seventeen. They’d been grouped together as partners in the sports day competition at high school. Their task had been to kneel on the ground on all fours, side by side, and then a heavy cardboard box was placed on their backs. One by one, the box would be filled with bricks and they would have to endure the growing weight as a team under it. Since they’d gotten on the ground to start the challenge, she had not looked at him once, nor even said hello. He wasn’t sure if she was just shy or a snob, but she was too cute to not find out.

  “Beautiful day for breaking your back, isn’t it?” He peered over at her and flashed what he knew was a smile that would melt any girl’s heart.

  She looked over at him and then looked away. Unimpressed.

  “You’ve got some mu
d on your shirt,” she said, still not looking at him.

  He thrust his chin down to look, and the fast shift in position caused him to lose his balance. The box slid off both their backs.

  She got up, brushed her hands, and walked away.

  “You made us lose,” he called after her.

  “You knocked the box over,” she replied, still not bothering to look his way.

  “Yeah, but you tricked me,” he said. “I wanted to win that competition.”

  It was then that she turned and looked back at him, one hand on her hip. “One day you’ll learn, not every competition is worth winning, Leo Lawson.”

  And as the years went on, even though he’d won her over enough to convince her to date him, albeit briefly, it was her lack of impression of him that drove her mad. What was wrong with her? Almost every other girl thought he was the shit, and here she was all high and mighty with her barely flickering interest in him. The competition for her was just like the cardboard box competition. Impossible to win and full of confusing ploys.

  And then one year later, after he was sure he had completely and violently fallen in love with her, she had taken off, literally in the middle of the night. He went to her house to find out where she had gone, but her parents told him she had moved to Italy. Just like that. No word from her, nothing.

  He never saw her again until she came into his clinic earlier that day.

  Leo jogged around the cornered path around the side of the house. Dark gray shutters and accessories adorned the peach house and a gleaming white front door beckoned. Would she even be okay with him coming to see her now? She’d seemed adamant earlier in the day that she wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, it had been her roommate who called.

  He stared at the door knocker, a tarnished brass lion head clasping brass hoops between its jagged fangs. He lifted the ring knocker and he stopped himself from slamming it too hard against the door. The last thing he wanted to do was to startle a probably already uneasy client. Especially, if that client was Mia Floyd. He had no idea what kind of psychological emergency Glenda had been referring to—there had been no time to discuss it on the phone. He dropped the hoop a few times, loud enough for them to notice, but not loud enough to sound like some pushy dude trying to hammer his way through the door.

  The door flung open and in front of him appeared an exasperated young woman, no older than twenty-five, with crimson hair so glossy it looked like a cheap wig that clung to her head assembled in a haphazard bun.

  “Doc,” she gushed like a star-struck fan. “You sure got here fast. I’m, like, so beyond impressed.” She inched on her tiptoes to peer around his shoulder. “Is that your car out there on the street? That’s a sweet ass ride.”

  “You must be Glenda Shar. The one who called me?”

  “’Tis she. I am assuming you recognize me from my YouTube videos?” Glenda stood on flat feet again and chewed her lip as she looked like she was on the verge of curtsying low enough to kiss each one of his toes. “Enchanté, by the way.”

  He opened his mouth to respond. But couldn’t. The sight behind her shoulders throttled the breath from his lungs. At least ten stacks of brightly colored clothes, still tagged, loomed in a tilting tower all the way to the ceiling. A tangle of dozens of broken Easter baskets stacked up in a pastel-colored mountain behind it. Slashes of jewel-colored silk scarves draped from the banister. There must have been at least a hundred of them, in every possible color and pattern. They sagged like broken kites that had soared out the best of their days and were now waiting to die. They added color and an odd sense of decorating to the otherwise unsightly hoard of junk.

  “What is all this?” Leo said before he could stop himself. “Are you preparing for five hundred garage sales or something?

  “This”—Glenda gestured to the endless cliffs of unused Walmart merchandise that swayed behind her—“is the reason I called you. Mia won’t let anything go and it’s starting to freak the fuck out of me.” She clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oops. Excuse my French.”

  “May I come in?” Leo said.

  Glenda stepped aside and gestured for him to take the narrow path between towers of junk. “It would actually be so beyond epic if you did, Doc Lawson.”

  He squeezed in past her and slowly took in the entire situation. His hand gripped his chin. “Wow….”

  “I told you this was a psychological emergency,” Glenda said.

  “Where is Mia now?” he asked.

  “She’s throwing a pity party for herself in her dead son’s room,” Glenda said.

  “Dead?” Leo said. “I thought her son was just missing.”

  “Um, yeah, her missing son. The police are still looking for him. I guess…” Glenda paused awkwardly and then turned to lead him down the tight hall to a bedroom door. She pushed the closed door a few times; it seemed to be caught by clutter on the other side of it. Eventually, it exploded open and revealed a boy’s bedroom with everything blue and green checker print. It brimmed with toys and boys’ clothes from happier days. Fat snowflakes of dust now lazily twirled through the stagnant air. Mia, sat crossed-legged in the middle of the room, hugging a stuffed animal.

  “I’ve got this from here,” he said to Glenda.

  She shrugged and whispered as she left, “Sure, whatever. I’ll be in my room. I’m filming a riveting new video about how to clean your makeup brushes with stale bread. Subscribe if you want to find out more information about it.” She left and slammed into her bedroom.

  Leo edged into the room to where Mia was sitting. She tensed at his presence but did not look back at him.

  “You’re probably judging me too, huh,” she finally murmured into the stuffed animal. “What kind of crazy lady keeps her house like this and writes herself death notes?”

  “No,” he said. Decisively. He took a cross-legged seat beside her. “I am not judging you, Mia.”

  “It didn’t used to be this bad. I promise you. Not before…” She pressed her cheek to the bluebird and sighed in gulps of oxygen before continuing. “Before my son disappeared. I just want you to know that I wasn’t always this bad.”

  “I understand that. And I’m here to listen.” Leo wanted to lean closer to her, but was careful not to. Instead, he lightly rested his hands on his kneecaps. He expected it to feel awkward with Mia, after not seeing her for so long, after what happened. But what he felt went way beyond mere awkwardness. “If you would like to talk about it.”

  “What’s to talk about?” Mia said. “Barter is right. I’m just a lunatic.”

  Penelope Barter? He winced at that name. He’d heard about the cop and knew she had the reputation for being a tough woman, but an accusation like that seemed to be crossing so many boundaries.

  “She said that?” he said.

  “Not exactly,” she said. “But she might as well have.” She lifted her eyes to meet his, and his gut clenched. Those same amber eyes that burned like fire. Luscious tousled hair cascaded around her face. Even messy like this, she was still a goddess. His eyes followed the curve of her arm down around the stuffed animal. The tips of her fingers shook. It took everything in him to not reach out his hand to caress her and let her know it was going to be all right. Not only could he never assure her that it would be, but also to touch her again—he didn’t trust what he would do with that sensation.

  “Mia, this might sound like a really weird idea.” He broke eye contact and changed the subject. “I have this client….Kind of a quirky fellow with odd habits, but he means well. He’s starting up this hiking company. He’s invited you to come along on his first trip. What would you think about that, you know, to get out of town for a bit and clear your mind?”

  Mia looked at him darkly. “Is he going to Blueflower?”

  “To what?” Leo wasn’t familiar with any of the smaller towns in the region, having only moved there a few weeks ago. He was still baffled by the coincidence that of all the towns he randomly picked, he picked the one where Mia Floyd
lived.

  “I will only come if he is going to Blueflower.”

  “What’s in Blueflower?”

  Mia stared at him, refusing to answer the question. But he could see in the intensity of her gaze that there was a very good reason why she wanted to get to that town, specifically.

  “I can ask him if he can head there,” Leo added. “If that makes you feel better.”

  “Yes, it would.” Mia’s face melted into the most beautiful smile he had seen in a long time, exactly as carefree as she had looked at seventeen. Her eyes fluttered closed as she seemed to imagine it, and against his better judgment, Leo reached out to brush her silky apricot cheeks with his fingertips. But just before he made contact, Mia blurted, eyes still closed. “Can I bring Glenda?”

  “Uh…” he pulled his hand back.

  “She can vlog in the forest,” her eyes snapped open again. “She’s always looking to do creative, interesting stuff like that.”

  “Of course,” Leo drew his hand back. “Matter of fact, Nate insisted on it. I think he’s got a tiny bit of a crush on her.”

  Mia beamed. “Oh, that’s sweet. Isn’t young love just so sweet?”

  His smile flickered away. It had been sweet, he thought. Until you left me without warning or explanation. “Sure.” He got up off the floor and extended a hand to help her stand. “How do you feel now?”

  “Better,” she said, watching his extended hand, hesitating to take it. “A bit worried still, but better.”

  She placed her smooth hand in his and his body gripped with electricity. His eyes found hers and he tried to hide everything he felt with a poker-faced half smile. Mia pulled herself to her feet with the strength of her hand and with each inch that she rose, her smile faded incrementally.