by Pat Young
She knocked on the front door, gingerly at first. Then more loudly. She tried the handle and was surprised when the door opened. She’d been hoping Curtis would be home so she could see he was fine, but hoping he wouldn’t be there so she could take what she needed and leave.
She stepped inside and called, ‘Curtis?’ She didn’t like the way her voice wavered on his name. It made her sound scared and she was trying so hard not to be.
No answer. He must be sleeping. Good. If she was lucky she could grab her stuff and go. She’d been planning to pick up some clothes, so she could leave Charlotte’s in the apartment, but if that meant going into the bedroom, forget it. She had been hoping to retrieve Mum’s letter from under the mattress, but that wasn’t her priority.
A quick look round the living room reminded her how little she and Curtis had to show for their years together. She was glad Mum hadn’t seen the way she was living.
The place smelled the same as ever. Musty and faintly damp. But it was tidier than she remembered. That was reassuring.
And there was no sign of the skillet.
Lucie checked the floor. If she’d killed him, wouldn’t there be a chalk outline of his body, or did that just happen in movies? The place didn’t look like CSI had been here combing for clues to a murder. Lucie sagged with relief. ‘Thank you, God,’ she whispered, earnestly.
She opened the kitchen cabinet where the skillet was kept. There it was, clean and innocent. She had nothing to worry about. The police don’t put murder weapons back in their place, that much she did know.
She tiptoed to the drawer where they kept their paperwork. The squeaky drawer they called it. Lucie held her breath. The old drawer allowed itself to be coaxed open, obligingly quiet for once. At the last moment wood screeched on wood, reluctant to part. Lucie held herself rigid, like a kid in a game of statues. The house remained silent. Outside a car whooshed past and a dog barked till it was gone. Lucie’s hand was shaking as she started to leaf through the papers in the drawer. Most of it was junk mail that should have gone straight in the trash. There were takeout menus, vouchers that were years out of date, a birthday card Curtis had given her two years ago and recycled last year. She wouldn’t be around to see it make a third appearance.
Lucie fumbled through paper, till her fingers touched the bottom of the drawer. Where was it? She always kept it in here, didn’t she? What about that spate of burglaries in the neighbourhood? Had she moved it then? Curtis always joked that no self-respecting burglar would climb in their window, but Lucie had been spooked. She carefully lifted out the contents of the drawer and sat them on the countertop so she could go through them one by one. The drawer was soon filled to the brim again, but Lucie hadn’t found what she was looking for.
The only other place she kept anything of value was in the bedroom. Should she come back another day, when Curtis was out? But what if he locked the front door and she couldn’t get in? Anyway, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to find her passport, book a flight and get going.
She sneaked to the bedroom door and listened, her ear as close to the wood as she dared. Nothing. Good sign or bad? If he was deeply asleep, he’d be snoring. She stood for a whole minute, counting off the seconds in her head, listening for bedsprings creaking or bare feet slapping the floor. Still nothing.
She could dash in like a SWAT team, grab stuff from the drawer beside the bed and run for it. He might not even wake up. And if he did, she could be gone before he realised what was happening.
She touched the door handle but didn’t turn it. He might have another woman in there. A woman who would wake up and scream. They’d call the police and keep her here till the cops arrived.
There it was again. That fear of Curtis. The same fear that had kept her a prisoner in this squalid little house. Lucie had vowed she’d never be scared of him again. She was going in.
Taking a huge gulp of air, she turned the handle, pushed the door and ran towards the bed. The empty bed.
She was about to let out a whoop when she heard the front door open.
41
Dylan had promised himself he’d do this one last favour for Curtis and then he was done. With Lucie gone there was nothing to tie him to Curtis anymore. The guy was becoming increasingly hard to like and, looking back, it seemed to Dylan that their friendship had always been a one-sided affair. It was a bit like unrequited love. Something Dylan was becoming quite the expert in. And he’d had enough.
The subway ride had given him time to mope and the walk through Curtis and Lucie’s neighbourhood did nothing to lift his mood. He skirted broken pavements and avoided uncollected trash, sad to see cars so rusted they’d never drive a highway again and houses with cardboard for windows. He felt sorry for Lucie. She deserved far better than this.
The screen door had given up and lay sprawled like a drunk across the doorway. Dylan stepped over it and into the house. He planned to spend as little time here as possible. This room gave him the creeps. He’d had no choice but come back to hide the evidence that might have condemned Lucie. Otherwise he’d not have set foot in the place again. He preferred to put the whole traumatic episode to the back of his mind and had decided that this would be his last visit. Even if Curtis came back here to live.
Best get it over with. Find the T-shirts Curtis wanted, pick up some socks and underwear and of course, Lucie’s passport. He’d start with that.
The bath panel came off with a crack as the plastic split in two. Not that it mattered. Neither Curtis nor Lucie would ever soak in this old tub anymore. Dylan cast the pieces aside and stretched into the dark recess, hoping there was nothing more harmful than spores lurking. He walked his fingers along the floorboards towards the corner. His thumb touched a polythene bag and he dragged it into the daylight. There it was. Lucie’s passport. Not the familiar navy blue of the United States but the deep burgundy of the European Union with the golden insignia of Great Britain. Dylan leafed through till he came to the photo page. His heart sank in his chest when he saw Lucie’s face. The regulation pose, staring straight into the camera, made it feel like she was looking into his eyes. ‘Oh, Lucie,’ he murmured. He wasn’t going to part with this. It was all he had left of her. He discarded the plastic bag and stuck the passport in the back pocket of his jeans.
Next stop the bedroom. And then he was out of here.
The first thing he noticed was the open door. He’d made a point of closing them all last time he was here. A silly habit he’d got into as a child believing it prevented a fire from spreading. He stopped short of the doorway, feeling a shiver on the back of his neck, as if his hair was rising. If there was someone in there, he did not want to get involved in any sort of confrontation. The guy could be a thief, a squatter, an addict. Anyone could have wandered in here, just as he did. Carrying a knife, a gun or a needle. None of which Dylan wanted to see.
He should leave. Now. Curtis could live without socks.
Dylan listened, unable to shake the feeling that he was not alone in the house. Curiosity made him edge forward.
Suddenly he was knocked against the wall as someone barged out from behind the door and made a run for it.
Instinctively, he grabbed. Clutched at a jacket. Heard the material rip.
‘Lucie!’
She stopped and turned towards him, a fraction at a time.
‘Jesus! I thought you were …’ He couldn’t say it.
‘I thought you were Curtis!’ She started to laugh, but in a frantic, overexcited way. He’d never seen her like this before.
She looked at his hand clinging to her jacket and he let the fabric drop. She looked straight into his eyes then made to run. He was too fast and caught her arm.
She writhed and squirmed like a toddler in a tantrum, but he held firm.
‘Lucie! I have to talk to you.’
She turned away from him and he saw the mark on her neck. The same as the girl he’d seen in the hospital.
His fingers went to the mark, bar
ely touching. ‘Was this Curtis?’
‘Please let me go, Dylan. Before he comes in.’ For maybe a second, maybe a minute, they stood staring at each other, he wary, she beseeching. ‘Promise me you won’t run?’ He let go, expecting her to bolt like a wild animal freed.
She said simply, ‘Thank you,’ and rubbed at her arm.
Terrified he might have hurt her, he said, ‘Sorry, Lucie,’ and held his hands up, palms towards her. He took a step back, as if to prove he meant her no harm. ‘I guess you’ve had enough rough handling to last you a lifetime.’
Her hand went to the mark on her neck.
‘Want to tell me about it?’
When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘Not here. Come on, let’s go find ourselves a coffee.’ He put his hand on the small of her back, not pushing, just for reassurance.
They found a place a couple of blocks away. Lucie chose the most secluded table. She sat with her back to the wall and her eyes on the door, as if she were afraid someone might burst in.
‘You look terrified, Lucie. What are you so afraid of?’
She whispered, ‘Curtis.’
‘Curtis doesn’t know you’re here.’
She leaned across and grabbed his hand. ‘So he’s alive?’
She looked so happy, Dylan felt like he’d been stabbed through the heart. How could she still care about that asshole after the way he’d treated her?
‘Of course he’s alive. Why wouldn’t he be?’
Lucie’s face crumpled. ‘Thank you, God,’ she whispered, closed eyes raised to the ceiling. Her gratitude sounded heartfelt. It was clear she still loved the guy.
Dylan said nothing. There was nothing left to say, really.
‘Oh, Dylan,’ she sighed, her eyes full of tears. ‘What a mess I’ve made of my life.’
He wanted to reach out and wipe her tears away. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap to make sure they’d behave.
‘Well, I’ve got time to listen,’ Dylan said, ‘if you want to talk.’ He settled back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and start at the beginning.’
She recounted the drama that had unfolded in the kitchen of the little house. He noticed she missed out a few details, like the skillet and how it came to be on the floor. It was easy enough to fill in the blanks from what he’d seen for himself or been told by Curtis.
As she spoke, Dylan tried to work out how much he ought to tell her when it came his turn to talk.
‘Then, well, you know what happened to the Twin Towers.’
He nodded sadly.
‘So, I never did make it to my interview in the South Tower. For which I will be eternally thankful.’
‘Amen to that.’
Lucie give him the tiniest smile he’d ever seen.
‘Why didn’t you go home?’ he asked.
‘I’m never going back to that life. Not ever.’ Lucie shook her head as she spoke, ‘I can’t go back. He might kill me next time.’
‘I’m sure he won’t.’ Total lie. Curtis threatened daily that he’d kill Lucie if he ever set eyes on her. How he planned to achieve that was something they’d never discussed. Maybe this would be the right time to tell her Curtis was paralysed, that he could never hurt her again. Dylan decided to say nothing. He’d examine his motives later. Right now it was important to keep her here, keep her talking.
‘Where have you been living? I don’t imagine you can afford the Waldorf?’
That teensy little smile again. ‘I’m staying with a friend. We went to school together.’
‘Do I know her?’
‘No, she wasn’t one of the runners. Anyway, she’s happy for me to stay until I get a job and find a place of my own.’ He could tell she was doing her best to sound upbeat and full of purpose.
Reaching for his wallet, he said, ‘Do you need some money? I can help you out.’
‘It’s okay. I don’t need your money.’
‘Cool,’ he said, trying to sound non-committal.
As if sensing she’d hurt him, she added, ‘Thanks, Dylan, but I’m fine. Charlotte has plenty of money.’
‘Charlotte?’
‘The friend I’m staying with is from a very wealthy family.’
She lowered her gaze, stared into the coffee she was cradling in her hands, stealing its warmth.
‘Family,’ she said, wistfully. ‘Yeah. Back to the story. I don’t know if you knew I’d arranged to meet my mother that day?’
Dylan shook his head, wondering if he was supposed to know that. ‘Your parents were here? That’s amazing.’
‘Yeah, except my dad didn’t come and my mum ended up driving. Straight off the plane. She was so tired she caused an accident that shut the Lincoln Tunnel for half a day.’
‘I heard about that. Is she okay?’
Lucie shook her head, biting her lower lip so hard he feared she’d draw blood.
‘Is that why you were at the hospital a few days ago?’
Lucie looked up, the sudden movement causing her coffee to swill around in its cup. She put it back on the table and stared at it. Avoiding his eyes, he thought. As if she was hiding something.
‘I saw you in the coffee shop.’
‘Why didn’t you speak to me?’
He considered telling her he’d heard her say her name was Gillespie, but thought better of it. He didn’t know why. ‘You were already talking to someone.’
Lucie nodded, still staring at the coffee cup.
‘And you were very upset,’ Dylan prompted.
‘Yes. I was. I am,’ she said, at last, her voice breaking.
Dylan said, ‘Is your mom going to be okay?’
Lucie chewed her lower lip and shook her head, wordless. Tears streamed down her face. Without waiting for permission his hand stole across and touched her cheek, his thumb gently wiping at her tears.
‘I’m so sorry, Lucie.’
‘I didn’t even get to say goodbye, Dylan. I was too late.’ She gave him a teary smile. ‘My granny always said I’d be late for my own funeral.’
Wise woman, that granny. Lucie had missed her own funeral by several days. Dylan decided this was not the time to tell her.
42
Lucie poured a glass of Californian Zinfandel and sat staring out at the evening sky, wondering if Mum and Granny were up there somewhere. It was hard to believe they were in heaven, even harder to believe that wherever they were, they were gone. For good.
‘What will you do now, Lucie?’ Dylan had asked her.
‘Oh, I guess I’ll stay with Charlotte for a while. See how things pan out, job-wise. To be honest, it’s just such a relief to get away from Curtis and feel safe for the first time in years.’
‘It was that bad, huh?’
She’d felt it was important to justify her actions to Dylan. Maybe because he was Curtis’s friend. Maybe because it mattered what he thought of her.
‘It’s got pretty bad recently but that’s the first time I’ve been afraid for my life. Curtis had his hands round my neck, Dylan, strangling me, like he really wanted me dead.’
‘Why didn’t you ever fight back?’
‘Oh, I used to. When it first started. Then I worked out it just makes him madder. Realised it was easier to take the beating. But this time I had no choice. If I hadn’t defended myself, I believe he might have killed me.’
She had omitted the fact that she might have killed him. Or that she didn’t care at the time. Instead she’d enquired after his health. ‘So, he’s okay?’
Dylan had seemed to hesitate, as if he wasn’t sure what to tell her.
‘He was out cold when I found him on the floor that morning. They took him to the hospital and all.’ Another pause and hesitation. Then Dylan said, ‘He’ll live.’
They’d exchanged a look that told Lucie there was more to this.
‘Is that why you were at the hospital the day mum died, the day you saw me? Were you visiting Curtis?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Is he still there?’
‘Do you really care, Lucie?’
She had shaken her head. No, she didn’t care. And for that reason, she had asked no more questions. Whatever had happened to Curtis, he’d had it coming. She couldn’t find it in her heart to feel any sympathy for him. The man had almost taken her life.
‘Will you tell him you’ve seen me today?’ she’d asked.
‘Do you want me to?’
‘No. definitely not.’
‘In that case, I won’t tell him. He doesn’t need to know.’
She’d felt such relief, and such gratitude to Dylan, she’d leaned over the little table and kissed his cheek. His face lit up, like a frog kissed by a princess. She felt guilty about lying to him. Still, she reminded herself, his loyalties would be likely to lie with his injured friend. Not with the wife who’d laid him out and run for the hills. Best to keep her own counsel.
When they’d parted outside the coffee shop, Dylan had pressed a scrap of paper into her hand.
‘Lucie,’ he said, ‘this is my cell phone number and the number of my mum’s place. She’ll take a message. You may have to listen to her chat for a while. Boy, does she like to talk!’ He’d rolled his eyes and made her laugh. Then he’d got all serious again and said, ‘Please, Lucie, promise me you’ll call? Even if it’s just to let me know you’re okay, give me a call, yeah? Don’t just disappear again.’
She’d hugged him and whispered, ‘As long as you promise you won’t ever mention me to Curtis.’
He’d promised. And she trusted him.
Curtis was alive. She was off the hook. No longer facing the threat of a murder trial.
That meant she had no need to hide anymore. No need to go on pretending to be Charlotte. No need to spend every waking minute worrying in case someone found out and exposed her for the fraud she was.
Fraud. She hadn’t really thought of it like that. Fraud was a punishable offence. How punishable?
Half an hour on the internet taught her as much about fraud as she needed to know. And a lot more than she wanted. Fraud was an offence punishable by law in New York. Fraud came in many forms, as it turned out. Criminal impersonation, identity theft – she was guilty of both.
