I'm not going to tell him.
I do the next best thing and dig my toes into the mulch and start kicking dirt over the poor thing. I'll consider this the bird’s burial service. Once it's completely covered, I head back inside and up the stairs. As I enter through the front door, Sammy's waiting for me with his arms crossed.
"What were you doing down there?" he interrogates with a scowl stretched across his lips.
"Nothing, sweetie, I was making sure there was no bird." I pull him into me, wrapping my arm around his body.
"Well, was he there?" he asks.
"Nope, nothing. Just a bunch of dirt.” I urge him into the kitchen and away from any of the windows. “Hey, how about some breakfast? Do you want me to make your favorite? French toast?”
He gives me the same look Alex does when he knows I'm lying. His eyebrow is arched and that cute little crooked grin always has a way of deceiving me. "Okay, Mommy. I'll have French toast." He rolls his eyes.
"What's going on in here?" Alex walks in, rubbing his half lidded eyes.
"Mom just buried a bird," Sammy says with an angry flat tone.
My mouth gapes open, and I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, searching for the next thing to say. How did he know?
"Chlo?" Alex says, followed by a nervous laugh.
Why couldn't we all just wake up to a drama free morning, just once?
"A bird flew into Sammy's window last night and he saw it fall after." I sigh. "He seems to think I just buried it outside." I widen my eyes, hinting for Alex to play along.
"Sammy, I'm sure Mommy didn't bury the bird, and I'm sure it flew off after it hit your window. There's nothing to worry about, little man."
"I saw her," Sammy says, gritting his teeth together. He drops his fork down on his placemat and scurries out of the kitchen.
"What do you think this is all about?" Alex asks me.
"Who knows," I say, trying to downplay my true concern.
I huff loudly while cracking the three eggs into a bowl and then beat them with all my fury. Alex's arms wrap around my neck and his lips press against my temple. "Baby, it's going to be okay." He kisses me again. "I promise."
I drop the whisk as the tears begin to pour out of my eyes. "I didn't want this life for him, Alex. I've tried so hard to stay away from trouble, but it follows us. Why us? I don't understand," I cry.
Alex turns me around, ignoring the drippy yolk falling to the ground. "There's no danger here. It was a bird, and you're overreacting."
I take a deep breath, realizing he's right. It was just a bird—just a bird that flew into Sammy's window and fell to its death. Yeah, that's normal.
Just as I place the plates down on the table, I hear Sammy shrieking from his room.
What now?
We both run to his room, to find him standing at the window on his tiptoes. "Sammy, what is going on?" I ask.
"There was another bird," he cries, pointing down to the ground.
I move Sammy away from the window and peek outside. It's dead. Another one.
***
We found three more dead birds this week. I looked it up online and found a couple possible scenarios, but the most common answer I found was that it was mating season for birds—sometimes they see their reflection and they'll think it's another bird. I find it all somewhat strange since I've never had a bird fly into my window before. I’m hoping mating season doesn't last long, because Sammy has taken up permanent residence in our bed every night again and that has killed our mating season.
The front door opens quietly and closes just as softly. I glance down at my watch and see it's just after ten. I walk out into the living room and see Alex placing his bag on the hook and loosening the collar of his shirt.
"It's late," I whisper.
"You're awake?" he asks, opening his arms to me.
"I was worried and wondering where you were."
"I had to work late." He rakes his fingers through his gelled hair and plops down on the sofa.
I give him the look. The look that tells him, I know he's not working where he says he's working. How long does he think I'm really going to play dumb for? He dodges my visits, won't give me an address, works odd hours, and there has never been a folder, calculator, pen, or pencil in his bag.
He pulls me down onto his lap and gives me a look—a look I can't be angry at. His crooked grin, large blue eyes and the scent of coconut still have me caught in a spell. He wraps his arms around me and presses his lips into mine, slowly and deliberately, forcing me to forget about my internal accusations. "How was your day?" His words vibrate against my lips.
I don’t want to talk about my day. I want stay like this and forget about life. I ignore his question, allowing my lips to get carried away on his. I let my bathrobe slip off of my shoulders, which makes him forget about his question. I unbutton his shirt slowly, painfully. My pace isn’t quick enough for him.
With one swift move of his hands, I’m on my back and he’s hovering over me, kicking his pants off. He pulls the throw blanket over us and allows his warm body to rest on my cool skin. His lips dance below my ear, sending chills from my toes to the roots of my hair. His nose grazes along the line of my cheek and his eyes melt into mine. I can see the world in his sparkling blue irises—I can see pain, worry, fear, and everything else he’s hiding as well. I love those eyes, but I hate the pain they try to cover. His hands wander around my body, warming every inch his body isn’t covering. Our worlds connect, and he’s mine and I’m his. There are no secrets; there are no fears, pain, sadness, or worry. It’s just us. It’s just pleasure, happiness, and love—undeniable, relentless, and indescribable love.
He sweeps the hair off of my neck and trails his lips down my neck. “Nothing else matters when I’m with you. Everything around us becomes a blur, and it can stay that way. We just need to focus on Sammy and us and forget about what’s circling around our lives. It just doesn’t matter right now.”
I nod, agreeing, and I rest my head in the crook between his bicep and chest. "We can pretend nothing else matters after I tell you Sammy got sent home from preschool an hour early."
I feel his chest pull in and his lungs fill with air that he holds onto for a few seconds. "Why?" I pull myself off of him and position myself between the couch and his legs. "Did he do something wrong?"
"I guess he was scaring all of the other children. He was telling them about the birds that keep flying into his window and then falling to their death. His story didn't go over well among a bunch of four and five year olds."
Alex pulls himself up and rests his feet on the ground and his elbows over his knees. "What are we going to do?"
"Close his curtains?" I laugh. "I don't know anymore. He's too smart to fool."
"Did you speak to Celia today?" Alex asks.
"No, I didn't have a chance. You didn't hear from her?"
"No." He reaches for his phone and unlocks the screen, checking the display screen. "No messages either." He dials her number and presses the phone up to his ear. He nods his head to what I'm assuming to be each ring. "Shit.” He slides the phone back into his pocket. “I have to go check on her."
"Okay, don't worry. I'm sure she's fine. She’s probably just sleeping." I pace around the living room, thinking of possible scenarios, twirling a strand of hair around my forefinger. Alex stops me midstride and grips his fingertips into my shoulders. "Lock the door and go stay with Sammy. I'll be back in a bit." He kisses my forehead and races out the front door.
I pace some more until I hear a slight moan from my bedroom. Sammy must be having another nightmare, poor thing. I walk into my room and my eyes focus on the back of Sammy's head. He's sitting straight up, facing the window. His behavior is starting to remind me of one of those kids from a horror movie. Then again, I sort of feel like I'm constantly living in a horror movie.
"Sam?" I whisper quietly, placing my hand over his shoulder. "Baby, are you okay?" Just as I reach my hand out for his shoulder, I see eig
ht pairs of eyes—not human eyes—bird's eyes. They're lined up in a perfect row, flapping their wings as fast as humming birds, staring directly into our window. My initial instinct is to slap my hand over Sammy's eyes in an attempt to prevent him from seeing these awful birds gawking at him, but he pulls my hand off of his face and turns to look at me with seriousness and an edge of maturity a four-year-old shouldn't have.
"What do they want, Mommy?"
"Sammy, why did you open the blinds? Didn't Daddy and I tell you to keep those closed at night?" I don’t have an answer for him.
"Yes, but—"
"No but's. I want those blinds kept closed, and that's it."
Those damn birds aren't mating. They're here to give me a warning. Of what I don't know—don’t want to know.
CHAPTER FIVE:
AN OLD FRIEND WITH NEW HABITS
"CREAM AND two sugars please," I say to the barista.
I keep looking out of the corner of my eye and nodding my head at my coffee date. She seriously needs to get her decades straight. It's embarrassing to be seen with her—not that she cares, clearly. She chopped all of her hair off into a bob. Tight curls line her face. Dark lipstick, dark blush, a fake mole over the left part of her mouth and a casual lace flapper dress. And her attire is complete with black Mary Jane stilettos.
Everyone is staring at her, probably wondering what rock she just climbed out from under. These monthly coffee dates are getting painful. She used to be so normal compared to this. Although, I wouldn’t have considered her normal then.
She notices my sneer and grins at me. "You hate when I dress like this, don't you?" Kiera says. She’s doing this to torture me. I should have known.
"Well, can't you remember what decade you're in? It's not that hard." I roll my eyes.
"Oh, Cuz. If only you just let go of your control issues and enjoyed your freedom like I do, you'd be a happier person," she says. Maybe if you were being followed by so-called-salesmen and black birds all of the time, you wouldn’t think you were so free. Why does she get to live like a feather—floating free without a care in the world?
"Kiera, I have a son—a family. I can't just go decade hopping every day like you do."
"Sucks to be you!" She squeaks.
"You're obnoxious." I stifle a laugh.
"So, what's new? How is the little rug-rat and Alex?" she asks.
"You know I hate when you call him that." I sigh. "We're all having a bit of a rough time. We have a bird situation.
“A bird situation?” She laughs. “Did they take Big Bird off of CBS?”
“Very funny. But no. We have these huge black birds that keep flying into our windows and then dropping to their death. It's creepy, and Sammy has been sleeping in our bed for weeks now."
"That sucks for you and Alex." She wiggles her eyebrows and snickers. "Wait.” She stops laughing. “Did you say birds were flying into his window? What kind of bird?"
"Why does it matter?" I ask. “Oh. I get it. You’re doing that patronizing thing again. I don’t know why I even bother talking to you sometimes.” I press the rim of the coffee cup up to my lips and take a long sip.
Kiera places her hands down firmly on the table and leans forward. "What kind of bird, Chloe?" Her voice turns stern.
I place my cup down. I’m just waiting for her to bust out another joke "I don't know. They look like crows I guess."
Her pupils become small and her eyes become large. She swallows hard and brushes a loose curl out of her face before hiding behind her large coffee mug.
"What's with the look?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. She clearly has something to say.
"I don't have—" she pauses. "It's really nothing.” She places her cup down on the table and pushes the chair out from below her, causing a loud scratching noise against the floors. “Want to go shopping or something?"
Twenty minutes is about all I can take of her. "No, thanks. I have to get home. Celia's having a rough time and I told her I'd only be gone for a bit."
"Oh, I forgot to ask. How is she feeling now?" How does she think she’s feeling? She got beat to a pulp and was in the hospital for a week.
"She'll be okay. She's almost completely healed and she's doing what she can to keep busy."
"That's good. I can't believe that happened to her just from falling off the front step." She says, nodding her head in disbelief. I should have thought of a more believable story. No one gets that hurt from falling off a stair.
"Yeah. Crazy." I focus my eyes on my coffee mug to avoid looking at her. "Well, I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks." I bring my coffee cup and hers to the front counter and return to the table for my coat and purse. Kiera has her hands on her hips and her head is cocked to the side.
“Tell me,” she demands.
If I knew what to tell her, I still wouldn’t tell her. “Tell you what?” I say, adjusting my purse over my shoulder.
She nods her head. “You should really learn to breathe once in a while. You’d feel better.” She leans over and gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Love ya, Cuz.”
I have forgotten what it’s like to be able to breathe—freely, anyway. My chest usually feels so tight and my mind is frequently so cloudy that I can hardly enjoy these moments of my life. I need real. I need stable. I need a hard surface to keep my feet on. Because this lucid dream I’m living in is turning into thick fog made up of dark clouds.
I watch Kiera strut out of the coffee shop. As she turns around the front door, she disappears. Part of me is jealous of her freedom. But, I wouldn’t give up Alex or Sammy for anything.
I open my car door and step one foot inside before I realize there's something on my seat—something I didn't place there. I take my leg back out and crouch my head inside, looking around at the rest of the car. Nothing was taken, nothing was moved and it doesn't even look like someone was in here. I lift up the foreign object, a flashlight, and inspect it for the logo—another object with no significant meaning.
Screw this. I’m going to the police. No one else wants to give me answers. I’ll go get them myself.
I drive the three blocks down to the police station and have my foot out the door before I've even shut down the ignition completely. I narrow my eyes to see clearer into the distance, noticing the black Jeep Wrangler at the end of the parking row. Normally I would assume it's someone else's, but I can vaguely make out the surfer decal on the back left window. All I can hope is that I’m not piecing together what I seem to think I am.
I open the heavy double paned glass door and follow through to the next set of double doors. I greet the large burley woman with dark hair and dark eyes sitting behind a bulletproof glass window with only a small opening to fit a hand through. Without noticing any other way for her to hear me, I duck down to speak into the hand hole. "Um—I need to speak to someone about an item that was dropped into my car while I was parked outside of a coffee shop."
I hear automatic locks unhitch and the metal door on my left creak open slowly. An officer—a two-hundred-pound man with a thick black mustache and matching eyebrows—hovers over me by at least a foot and a half. "What seems to be the problem, ma’am?"
"I ah—I found this flashlight in my car. Someone dropped it into my window while I was parked at a coffee shop. Normally I would think it was just an accident, but I found the same type of flashlight outside of the front door of my house a few weeks ago, as well. It's unsettling, and I wanted to know if you had any information on the company, Oncarf. The name is engraved on the other side of the flashlight," I say.
"Oncarf, huh?" the officer chuckles to himself. "You're Levette's wife, aren't you?" he snorts.
"Excuse me?" I say, bewildered. "Is my husband here or something? I saw his car out front."
The officer laughs again a bit harder. He waves his hand at me to follow him through the metal doors. "Have a seat over there,” He points at a desk in a bullpen. “He'll be back in a few minutes."
"Where is he? His car is
out front? Is he in trouble?" I ask.
The entire room of cops laugh, and I feel my cheeks redden as I realize that I'm the butt of their joke. But, I don't get it. Or, maybe I do. I sit down at the desk where I was directed to sit. I feel anger grow within me as my eyes focus on two picture frames on the desk. One of them is Alex and me on our wedding day, and the other is of Sammy on his first birthday. I place my hand around the backward name plaque and flip it around to face me. I want to say this explains so much, but it really doesn't explain anything at all.
I'm grinding my teeth, tapping my leg and drumming my fingers loudly against the metal desk. All of the cops are staring at me with sly grins. I hear a couple of them talking about the trouble Alex is going to be in tonight. Hearing the snickers is causing a fiery heat to fill my cheeks.
The large doors fly open and I hear Alex's voice yell, "Hey guys, anyone want coffee? I went for a—"
Busted. Shock and awe doesn't quite describe the look on his face. He sets the coffees down on the first desk he passes and races to my side, falls to his knees and shoves his head into my lap. "Don't hate me," he pleads.
"Is this a joke?" I ask, lifting his head from my lap. Everyone around us is chanting, "Levette's gonna get it." It's infuriating me more.
"How long was this going to go on, Alex? You've been lying to me for months!" I yell.
Before Alex has a chance to explain anything, I'm assuming what must be his boss walks over to him, places his large club like hand over his shoulder and mutters, "See you tomorrow. Good luck, son."
"Chlo, let's go," he says, as he pulls me up from his chair and leads us to the front entrance.
As soon as my feet hit the pavement of the parking lot, I begin yelling. I'm not sure if anything that's coming out of my mouth is making any sense, but I just feel like yelling right now. Alex continues to try and pull me as far away from the station as possible, but I can't help the increasing volume of my voice.
He places his finger over my lips and hushes me. "Let me talk." He wraps his hand firmly around mine. "Look. You know we're being followed, right? You know something is after us. This isn't new. I need to keep you and Sammy safe, Chloe. And having the police on my side is a necessity when it comes to the danger that's always lurking in our shadows. I know how much you worry, and I knew if I told you I was joining the police force, you would be sick and worried about me every day. I didn't want to do that to you. I figured if you thought I was safe at some accounting firm, you'd feel more like you were living a somewhat normal life.” His eyes study mine, waiting for a response or a reaction. I don’t know how to respond. He’s been lying to me.
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