What She Doesn't Know: A Psychological Thriller

by Andrew E. Kaufman

  Now she feels more uncomfortable.

  In a concentrated effort to attain some social lubricant, she drifts toward the bar. She again considers the warning about drinking with her meds, then dismisses it. She’s already violated that rule several times without any negative consequences since meeting Samantha and figures there’s no harm in furthering the trend. She orders a glass of wine and finds a spot near the wall where she can continue perusing the room.

  “Hey, you!”

  Here comes Samantha, her eyes wide, her smile high-voltage.

  “Isn’t this so cool? I had no idea so many people would show up.”

  Noted. Agreed.

  Samantha’s smile loses a few amps when she says, “What’s wrong? Aren’t you having a good time?”

  “Of course. This is wonderful!”

  Liar.

  The smile recharges. Samantha throws both arms around her and squeezes a bit too hard. She pulls away, takes a firm grasp of Riley’s shoulders, and says, “I’m so happy you’re here. I wanted to make you proud of me.”

  “I’m very proud of you, sweetheart.”

  Samantha radiates with surprised excitement.

  “What?” Riley asks.

  “You called me sweetheart! You’ve never done that.”

  Riley feels her teeth grinding and forces her jaw to relax. She peruses the room again and sees—

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think that harpist over there is staring at me,” Riley says, scrutinizing the woman.

  Samantha takes a look, then shakes her head and says, “I don’t think so. I think she’s just looking in this direction.”

  The harpist closes her eyes and moves to the music.

  Not everyone is watching you.

  But some people have been lately. Like the man several feet ahead—a very attractive man, about Riley’s age, who is looking her way. Her programmed response is to glance over her shoulder and see if he’s checking out someone else, but all she finds is the empty wall. When she looks back, the man is grinning.

  “Hey,” Samantha says under her breath, “that cute guy over there is totally checking you out.”

  Riley quickly downs the rest of her wine.

  “Go on!” Samantha shoos her away with both hands. “Walk over and talk to him!”

  “I don’t know . . . I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

  “Oh, nonsense. You’re more than ready, and you look great tonight. This is exactly what you need, so go flirt with the sexy hunk.”

  Samantha waltzes off and goes back to her mingling. Riley bashfully—and maybe too stiffly—gives the man a smile while at the same time realizing how out of practice she’s become at dealing with men. But he takes the cue and immediately begins walking toward her.

  Oh no. What should I do now?

  A wave of heat sweeps up her neck. In an attempt to collect her nerves, she busies herself by looking down at her watch.

  “Gotta leave soon?”

  She looks up. The man stands before her with a smile—a rather cute and dimply one—and at this close range she also can’t help but notice his sparkling green eyes.

  “Well?” he asks, seemingly unable to take those beautiful liquid eyes of green away from her. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  He nods toward her watch. “Have to go?”

  “Not really . . .” Her mind fumbles. “I mean, no! I don’t.”

  He extends a hand and says, “I’m Randall.”

  “I’m Ready . . . I meant—oh God—I’m Riley.” She buries her face in her hands, speaks between her fingers. “I can’t believe I said that.”

  Randall doesn’t seem the least bit put off by the comment; in fact, he laughs with good-natured amusement. He flashes the dimply grin again. “Don’t come to these showings much?”

  “Don’t come to them at all,” she says, still trying to recover from her faux pas. “Hard to believe it, right?”

  “I completely understand.” Randall puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, the heat from it sending her heart into a fast, irregular flutter. He observes the crowd. “These people can be kind of stuffy. The secret is to find the right ones to hang out with.” He winks. Now, Randall isn’t just smiling; he’s sporting a hearty grin.

  Beautiful teeth, too, she notices, nearly as white as the crisp oxford he wears beneath his navy blazer.

  “But I’ll share a secret with you.” Randall leans in toward her, speaks with exaggerated confidentiality. “To be perfectly honest, I like my dog more than half the people in this room. Too affected. Know what I mean?”

  A loud and unexpected giggle escapes her. Embarrassed, she looks down at her ugly shoes. In an effort to keep Randall’s attention away from them, she sends her gaze across the gallery and inadvertently locks eyes with Samantha. Though there’s nothing to prove it, she has the strangest feeling Samantha’s been monitoring the situation with her and Randall the whole time. Samantha’s expression is at first dull, then it pops with zest, and she gives Riley the thumbs-up.

  “So?” Randall says.

  She flips back to him.

  “Want to escape all this stuffiness? We could go to the patio. I hear they have more air out there.”

  “Yes,” she tells him, “that sounds great.”

  They’re about to walk through the exit when a heavy hand comes down on Riley’s shoulder. She startles, looks, and finds Samantha standing there.

  “Hi,” Samantha says to Randall with a grin so ambitious it seems as if it’s about to break open. Then to Riley, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend?”

  “Um . . . yes. Randall, this is Samantha Light.”

  “Riley’s friend!” she adds.

  Riley catches a weighty shot of alcohol breath, and Samantha reaches out to shake Randall’s hand. “Thanks so much for coming this evening.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Randall replies. “I’m really enjoying your work.”

  “And I really appreciate the compliment,” Samantha says, enchantment glinting through her eyes. “But what do you think of our girl here? Pretty awesome, right?”

  Randall nods.

  And Riley wants to pull out her hair and scream. Besides being embarrassed by Samantha’s hard sell, she feels like a shrinking violet next to the woman’s ebullience and beauty. She feigns interest in someone walking by, fusses with her hair.

  “So, would you happen to live nearby, Randall?” Samantha asks.

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  “I do. I moved here a few years ago.”

  “Excuse me,” Riley interrupts, wild insecurity billowing through her, “but I need to run to the restroom before we go out on the patio. I promise not to be long.”

  Randall nods, then he and Samantha continue chatting.

  In the bathroom, she checks herself in the mirror. She runs a brush through her hair, reapplies some lip gloss, then assesses the effort.

  Better. I think?

  She comes back, ready to escape this stifling crowd and Samantha’s overbearing role as Cupid in exchange for fresh air and nice conversation. Standing beside Randall, Riley looks at him, but he seems different; in fact, he avoids her gaze.

  “Well, it was great meeting you,” Randall says, nodding to Samantha. He does the same to Riley, then walks away.

  Riley looks at Samantha. Samantha’s jaw drops open.

  Randall is already halfway across the room and beelining it toward the bar. He orders a drink without bothering to give Riley a glance . . . and clearly without a second thought.

  “What was that all about?” Riley asks.

  Samantha shakes her head and in a bewildered tone says, “I have no idea.”

  “Did he say something?”

  “Not a word.”

  Did you say something?

  Couldn’t be. She was practically throwing Riley at the man. A swell of disappointment overcomes her. Before she can speak, Samantha is doggedly marching straight toward
Randall, still at the bar and chatting with a buddy. The friend walks away, and Samantha steps into his place. From the distance, and through a noisy crowd, even Samantha’s booming voice doesn’t carry enough to make out what she’s saying, but Riley can tell the conversation isn’t the least bit pleasant. Samantha’s face screws into an angry scowl. It looks as if a serious ass kicking has bulleted down the chute, and Riley thinks, Wow. She’s livid. She’s really stepping up for me.

  Randall shakes his head and tries to speak, but Samantha cuts him off. Her hands fly up. Her face is bright pink, then she repeatedly stabs a finger toward the exit.

  Randall places his drink on the bar, and then he’s gone.

  Samantha stomps up to Riley. With arms across her quaking chest, she says, “They mess with you, they deal with me. End of story.”

  The show is over.

  In so many ways.

  “Doing okay there?” Samantha asks, giving Riley a compassionate look while she gathers up her press releases, price lists, and show statements.

  “If you mean alive and breathing,” Riley says, “then yes.”

  “Things will get better. You’ll see.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.”

  “How?”

  “Because now you have me. I’ll be there for you.”

  “I’m still confused. One minute he was completely interested in me, and the next, poof, he was gone.”

  Samantha looks as if she’s having difficulty deciding what to say.

  “There’s something else,” Riley says. “Tell me what it is.”

  Samantha releases a dispirited sigh. “He recognized you.”

  “What? With this new hair?”

  “I guess.” Samantha shrugs. “He figured it out after you left for the restroom.

  Riley looks off to one side, looks back at Samantha. “But when I asked, you told me he didn’t say anything.”

  “At the time, he hadn’t. The ass-hat told me after I went to the bar and unloaded on him.”

  Riley doesn’t remember seeing Randall get a word in between Samantha’s reprimands. But they were far away, and people were walking past and blocking her view.

  “Wh-what exactly did he say?

  Samantha vacillates for a few seconds, then, “He said he wasn’t interested in dating a child killer.”

  The comment is like a knife to Riley’s heart. She’s fighting back tears.

  “Oh . . . sweetie . . .” Samantha steps closer and massages Riley’s shoulder. “Don’t be sad. He doesn’t deserve you, so I made him disappear. Forget about the guy. Men come and go, but you’ll never have to worry. I’ll always have your back and make sure the bad ones never hurt you. Even though we had our disagreement the other day, I still love you.”

  Riley’s head jiggles with confusion. She thought they’d already moved past that. Why is she even bringing it up?

  “We’re like family,” Samantha elaborates.

  “Samantha, that’s complicated for me. “

  She tosses up a shrug. “Life can be complicated.”

  A gust of heat fires through Riley, but she tells herself to calm down, that she’s upset over Randall and overreacting, that what Samantha just said is an extremely common phrase, and that her echoing Patricia is just another coincidence. Besides, she prompted Samantha by saying the word first.

  Pain takes another jab at her stomach. Riley grimaces. This feels different from what she experienced the other day at work, more intense.

  “Hey,” Samantha says, “are you okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. Just a little stomach trouble. Probably something I ate.” She thinks about the yogurt she stole from Samantha’s fridge yesterday. Did she remember to check the date?

  “We should get you something for that. I’ll run to the drugstore.”

  “No. Don’t. I have stuff at home.”

  “You sure? I’m worried.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Okay, but I’m here if you need me.” Samantha steps in closer. “For whatever it is. I mean it.”

  “I know you do, but I should probably head home.”

  “Right. Of course.” Samantha picks up the glass sitting on a table next to her. She drinks the rest of her wine.

  “This is going to be so much fun, you and me. Just wait,” Samantha says.

  If tonight is an example, Riley’s not so sure she’s up for the ride.

  53

  “Hi. Is Riley home?” Erin asks, poking her head through the doorway and searching the apartment.

  “Very funny.”

  Erin pulls down her sunglasses, looks over the rims to further scrutinize Riley’s hair.

  “Would you like to come in and have dinner?” Riley asks. “Or do you prefer to stand in the hallway and judge me?”

  Erin dummies up. On the way in, she catches sight of the fire engine–red brackets mounted to both sides of the door, a matching crossbar propped against the wall. Though Erin doesn’t say anything, Riley can practically hear the warning bells going off in her sister’s head. Since their disagreement over how Riley handled her intruder problem, apartment security has tumbled into the Off-Limits folder.

  Or she’d thought so. But Erin takes a seat at the dining room table and revives the discussion. “Okay, so I have to ask. What’s up with Red Iron Will over there?”

  “Nothing.” Riley busies herself with food prep in order to avoid her sister’s analytical stare. “It’s an added security measure.”

  “A security measure,” Erin repeats as if that sentence has no place in the English language. “Seems a bit extreme. Seems like a lot more work than picking up your phone and calling the police.”

  “Can we please not do this again?” Riley says, suspiciously eyeing the green-handled butcher knife next to her on the counter.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

  “The added security is just until I move, anyway.”

  “What? Move?”

  “You didn’t think I was going to stay in this town, did you?

  “Actually, I did. Where are you going?”

  “There’s a better life waiting somewhere. It’s part of my plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “To move on.”

  “But what’s wrong with here?”

  “Here won’t work.”

  “I don’t think this is a very good idea, Riley. I don’t think you’re ready for anything like that yet.”

  Riley smiles. “We’ll see . . .”

  Erin holds her concentration on Riley for a moment, then crooks her neck and tries to steal a glance at the bedroom. Riley knows she’s attempting to see if Clarissa’s clothes are laid out on the bed.

  “Would you please knock it off?”

  “Fine—” Erin raises her hands in surrender. She goes back to Riley’s hair.

  “You hate it.”

  “Hate is a strong word. I just wasn’t expecting to see a dark-haired woman open my sister’s door. But if you’re soliciting my opinion, it seems pretty drastic. So, what’s the deal?”

  “I’m creating a new beginning for myself. Rewriting my story.”

  “Yeah? How’s that working for you so far?”

  “It’s still early,” Riley allows, serving Erin her favorite dish, corned beef with cabbage. She puts a plate down for herself and takes a seat. “Are you done slamming me?”

  “Oh, Riley, lighten up. I’m kidding around. You know I always support you.” Erin takes a stab at her food. “I just don’t always understand you. But joking aside, what gave you the idea to go from light to dark?”

  “A friend suggested it.”

  “A friend? You made a friend and haven’t told me? What’s her name?”

  “Samantha, and I didn’t know I was required to check in with you while forming new relationships.”

  “Riley,” Erin says with enough inflection to convey annoyance, “I didn’t mean it like that.” Then she sighs. “Can’t I be interested in your life? We used
to tell each other everything. For crying out loud, I was the one who gave you advice on boys in junior high. I really miss us.”

  Then stop trying to micromanage my life.

  Riley offers a flimsy nod and focuses on cutting her meat.

  “I’m right here,” Erin says, delivering opposition to her sister’s avoidance tactic.

  Riley looks up at her.

  Erin asks, “When did you meet her? This new friend.”

  “Several weeks ago.”

  “Where?”

  “At a restaurant.”

  “So, tell me all about Samantha,” Erin says, forcing levity into her voice.

  “What would you like me to tell you?”

  “I don’t know . . .” Erin throws in her lackadaisical, lawyerly shrug. “Like, what does she do for a living?”

  “She’s an artist.”

  “Interesting. What kind?”

  “Bronze statues.”

  “Of?”

  “Dark stuff.”

  “Such as?”

  “Things with wings. Oh, and fangs, too.”

  Her sister winces.

  “They’re emotional metaphors,” Riley tries to explain. “Very dramatic.”

  Erin takes a bite and shrugs. “Whatever you’re into, I guess.”

  Footsteps sound in the hallway. Riley jumps, her head spinning toward the door. But the sound fades.

  Erin looks there, too, looks curiously at Riley, then pauses for about three seconds before asking, “So, what’s happening with your therapist? How’s that going?”

  Here it comes.

  “Fine,” Riley says.

  “Been feeling okay lately?”

  She looks down at the table. She scratches her head and says, “Erin, is there a particular reason why you want to discuss my mental condition right now?”

  “Well, if I’m going to be honest, you seem edgy and irritable. And it looks like you’re losing weight again.”

  “Translation: crazy again.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  “Damn it, Riley. For once can you not think I’m criticizing you? I’m concerned for your well-being. That’s it.”

  “Okay. Fine. Go on.”

  “Well, for starters, you’re jumping at noises outside, and there’s the Crown Jewel Protection Plan on your door over there, then there are the binoculars and chair by your window. Yes, I noticed them. Are you watching for something in particular out there?”