Miss You Mad: a psychological romance novel

by Atkinson, Thea

  Mom didn't notice my discomfort. She opened her mouth, waiting for me to slip the straw inside. She took long, large gulps and I wondered if she'd get sick from having cold liquid hit her stomach. We both waited for the outcome.

  Before I realised I wanted to speak, my tongue started wagging.

  "I'm sorry," I started. Mom held up her hand.

  "Don't," she said.

  "I shouldn't have stayed away. You needed me. But I just couldn't."

  Mom sighed. I gave a swipe at the bit of liquid that bled from my eyes to my cheek.

  Tubes jiggled; the heart monitor sped up as she worked to say more than one word.

  "I've never blamed you, Danny. Never."

  I felt for her fingers as her hand dropped to the sheet.

  "That makes it even worse."

  She blinked and for a second and I thought she'd say something sweet and kind and I couldn't take that if she did. I'd tear out of there screaming if she said she forgave me.

  "You're a horrible son," she said, her voice gravelly and harsh but with something resonating beneath it that put me in mind of a gruff old priest offering absolution to a sinner.

  "You killed your own father and I hate you for it."

  My lungs expanded as though I'd been holding my breath. Water swam in my vision.

  "I love you, Mom," I said, choking on the words, but they made her smile.

  Even as I sensed the shift, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I plucked it out and tapped answer. Gina. Great timing.

  "Did you make your statement, then?" she asked.

  "Yeah, just this morning."

  There was silence on the other end for a moment. "If you were only going to do it this morning why were you in such a damned hurry yesterday?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Your text yesterday demanding info."

  I leaned away from mom's bedside because Gina's voice was getting a little shrill and I didn't want it disturbing the sense of peace that had settled around me. I found a chair next to it and pushed myself as far into the back as I could.

  "What information are talking about, Gina?"

  "You said you needed Hannah Hastings' address. I figured you needed it to fill out your police statement."

  "What in the hell would I need Hannah's address for?"

  "Because of that weirdo yesterday. The one who wanted to deposit into her account."

  I thought the lights had gone out. Weird shadows tightened my vision into a tiny white circle and then down into nothing. It was almost as if I'd got up out of my seat in too much of a hurry. Indeed, when the shadows disappeared into the light, I realised I had stood.

  "Are you sure?" I asked.

  Gina nodded. "You mean you didn't know that?" She sucked her teeth. "You would have if you hadn't taken off so quickly yesterday."

  I plowed through the index cards of my mind. I twirled through my Rolodex. When I pulled out Hannah's card and looked at it, it contained almost every piece of dialog we'd spoken. It contained her website address, her photo, and lastly, the information about the man who had driven her out of the city.

  I didn't know how, but I knew her stalker had found her.

  The spot William found to hide was a difficult one to crouch into. Being on the edge of the saltwater marsh, it made the breeze cold. William worried that his knapsack full of powder would fall into the water and get thoroughly soaked. He held tightly onto the straps and forced himself to remain perfectly still.

  He wasn't sure how long he waited, but the sun moved from its spot straight above him to the Southwest, and cast a long shadow from the house to the broken down gardening shed next to where he waited. By then, Hannah had taken to wiping down the panes of window that made up the solarium. In all that time, no one came out of the house and no one went in. It was time.

  First, he had to inspect the outside perimeter of the house. He hoped there would be another way in other than the door that faced him because Hannah would undoubtedly see him if he went in that way. He needed the measure of surprise. He crept cautiously to the left, making sure that at every pause he was hidden quite nicely behind the tall over growth. In a short time, he faced the south wall of the house and could see that indeed, there was a door. And a window. He moved closer.

  The house was narrow. If he stretched himself along the ground, William was certain he'd only have to fill the space twice before the other boundary was reached. The entrance, in the middle of the wall, had on one side a window, the other side, a small storage room filled with wood. That room, too, had a door. If William managed to creep inside, he could hide in that room until he decided exactly what to do.

  He lifted the latch.

  He heard her singing. His heart lurched. It would be a pity, really, to kill that voice. But what was it, except just another voice, another sound to fill his already saturated ears. If William had his way, he'd close off all the sounds. He'd be deaf.

  Hannah had taken to dancing in the other room. William could hear the deliberate, rhythmic tapping and shuffling that accompanied her singing. He wondered what it would be like to stand at the side of the room, with her full knowledge, and simply watch her. He wondered what it would be like to have her reach for him and place her head on his shoulder while they swayed and dipped and turned. He wanted to take the few steps through the kitchen and into that other room.

  Instead, he opened the door to his left and sat on a pile of wood.

  My BMW couldn't have taken me fast enough to Hannah's. I hoped against all hope that Howard hadn't taken his flight back to Toronto. At least if he was still here, he'd provide some measure of protection. But then, perhaps the stalker didn't know where she lived. Gina had given him the address of the Grand Hotel. It was perfectly logical that he didn't know about Helen Lucy Road. And if luck and God was with us, I'd reach Hannah early enough to warn her that Shakespeare was somewhere in town. At least then, she could be on guard. Get a new restraining order, even.

  I passed the hospital doing over one hundred kilometres. Please, please, please God, don't let the cops stop me. Don't let them catch me speeding. Then again, what was I thinking? Please, please, please God. Let the cops catch me.

  Hannah came into the kitchen. William could hear her rustling around from his spot on the woodpile. He had left the door open just a crack so that he wouldn't feel so closed in, and since he had, he could see her quite clearly put a kettle on top of the wood stove. She talked to someone as she moved around the kitchen. Howard. It had to be that horrible man who would leave her panties on the floor, who would rifle through her belongings, who would disrespect her space.

  William wasn't sure whether or not he should keep out at her and warn her. After all, she had made her choice. She must have been aware of the cost of that choice. It was one that would eventually drive her mad and send her into the deep the way it had Ophelia. Bad choices. So many bad choices.

  He held his breath and waited until she went back into the other room. William exhaled with a hiss. It wouldn't be long before she would have to add wood to the fire and find him here. He needed to act fast.

  William gripped his knapsack, swallowed, and forged into the room.

  A teapot squatted on the table. Its blue pottery lid rested next to it and two tea bags hugged each other on the inside. A matching blue sugar bowl sat between two tea cups. Two. That meant company. Insensitive, doting Howard. The setting was absolutely perfect. It couldn't have been more perfect if he had written it into a novel. She would serve that bastard tea, and she would no doubt heap a ton of sugar into both cups. But not if she already had sugar in her own.

  He listened. Hannah still sang from the other room; there were no footsteps, so William supposed she returned to wiping down the windows.

  He grabbed the sugar bowl from the table and poured the contents into a pocket in his knapsack. Then reaching into the belly of the bag, he took out the package of rat poisoning and filled the sugar bowl to the halfway mark. He sighed. There was noth
ing for it now. She had made her choice and it wasn't a good one. He had to save her from herself.

  He just hoped the bastard Howard poured plenty of sugar into his own tea.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, William went out the same door he came in. And as quickly and quietly as he could, rushed to the bushes on the perimeter of sand opposite the kitchen door. It wasn't a same hiding place, but it afforded perfect view of the tiny window and the table that sat next to it.

  He was still appearing at the window when he heard a sound on the other side of the house. At first he thought it was a stray cat moving to the bushes, but then he noticed something more distressing. It was a woman who stepped onto the small patch of grass that surrounded the house. He caught his breath when she tapped on the door and went inside.

  Mother. It couldn't be. And yet there she was as plain as the light could show her standing in the kitchen, talking to Hannah.

  Could it be that the other cup, the second cup, was for her and not for Howard. No. He refused to believe that. The cup had to be for Howard. He just had to wait for the bastard to appear. But he didn't. He never so much as darkened the door, and yet there are those two women sat sipping from their cups and chatting away.

  Half an hour must have gone by before he couldn't stand anymore. By that time he had broken into a sweat that chilled his body.

  William squeezed his eyes shut. He stood.

  Sit down.

  Giving his head a fierce shake, William charged through the bushes and into the tall grass that surrounded the cottage.

  He didn't bother to knock. Slamming open the door, he caught his mother sipping from the blue pottery mug. Hannah's face looked at once surprised, then afraid. William didn't care.

  "Did you use sugar?" he asked his mother.

  Mother furrowed her brow. Hannah bolted to her feet.

  "William," she said. "How did you find me?"

  William rushed the table, ignoring Hannah, stopping with his hand clutched on Mother's.

  "Did you use the sugar?" he demanded.

  Mother stammered. "Some."

  Hannah tried to push him out the door, babbling about the damned restraining order.

  "The sugar," he said again. "Did she put any in?"

  "Yes. Four teaspoons," Hannah said. "Now get the fuck out."

  William clawed at his eyes.

  Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't.

  Mother put down her cup. "It wasn't getting sweet enough."

  From the gaps between his fingers, William saw Hannah go for the stove and pick up the poker attached to the side.

  "Get the fuck out or I will club you."

  No, no, the drink, the drink,

  Mother doubled over with a squeal, clutching her stomach.

  "No. Oh no. Mother. Not again."

  He caught Hannah's eye.

  "Help me. Help. The sugar is poisoned."

  I had thought the car ahead of me looked familiar; when I turned on to Helen Lucy Road, it turned ahead of me. Howard, had to be. Lucky enough, but what was he doing here, he was supposed to be on a plane back to Toronto. Not that it mattered. For now he might prove useful, especially if Hannah's stalker had found her.

  Not that I expected to stalker to be at her house. He may have traced her to Yarmouth, but the address Gina had given him for the Grand Hotel. Still, it couldn't hurt to warn her.

  Howard got out of his car at about the same time I got out of my BMW. I slammed my door; he left his ajar while he reached in and pulled out a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. I fumed.

  He didn't bother to wait for me; instead, he picked his way through the over growth and headed for the back door. I started to run. I'd be damned if he'd get there alone to offer a house-warming gift while I came empty handed. I drew up behind him.

  "Good idea, Howard," I said through clenched teeth.

  He ignored me.

  I took two quick steps and ended up ahead of him just as we had made it to the corner of the house. A weird sound, a sound like someone had dropped a wet and heavy lobster trap onto a wooden floor, stopped me dead in my tracks. Next I knew, the small door had been thrown open and Hannah came running out. Her hair caught the breeze and stretched behind her like a veil. I called out to her.

  "I need your phone. 911," she yelled back at me. "Poison."

  I sprinted to the front door and peered in. In those few seconds, I could see some woman lay on the floor, and that a man hunched over her, sobbing over and over again, "Not again. Oh, mother. Not again."

  Something tingled at the base of my spine. It wriggled its way up to the middle of my back and found its way to my brain stem. Both of these people looked familiar. Howard drew up behind me.

  The man hunched over the woman turned and looked at me. "Help me," he said. "It's not like the first time. She's healthy now. She doesn't need me to release her."

  I'd know that face anywhere. In fact, I'd know that smell. He was the weirdo from the bank. He was the weirdo who wanted Hannah's address. And good God, the woman that lay on the floor was Belle. Dear sweet Jesus, he'd killed her.

  I threw myself at him. I'm sure we only scuffled for a few moments, but it felt like hours. He was strong. Stronger than I thought. And it's strange how even while you're fighting for your life, odd things pop into your mind. Things like, serves me right for wanting to die, and why isn't Howard helping me.

  I managed to bang his head into the floor enough times that he finally went limp. His hands fell from my throat and landed on each side of his head. I sat back on my haunches and let go a long hard breath. I dared take a peek at Howard.

  While I felt sick, Howard showed no emotion. My God, he'd just witnessed me kill a man and he still held onto the flowers and wine as if he were ready to offer them to me.

  I raked my hair with a trembling hand. "Tell Hannah to call the police too."

  Howard licked his lips. "Maybe you'd better wait."

  "But he's dead."

  "One down; one to go."

  Odd thing for him to say, but I suppose shock can do that. But shock or no, if I'd killed the man, we'd need more than just an ambulance. First we'd need the police, then I'd need to find a lawyer. With shaking legs, I stumbled out the door and headed to my car. I saw Hannah's retreating back as she ran toward Belle's house, and I imagined the cell reception had crapped out on her. Someone had to tend to Belle while I got Hannah to phone the police too. That someone would have to be Howard.

  "Can you do something for her," I asked him and he nodded..

  "Good, " I said. "I might have a First Aid kit back here." I rummaged about the back of my BMW, wondering what the hell I'd do with a kit when the woman had been poisoned. Did I think I could rub a little salve on her boo boo? Even as I did so, the hairs on my neck tickled my collar.

  "I'm freaking out, Colonel old man," I said to the bank as my hands flew about the back seat.

  "Shit happens," said a masculine voice from behind. I wheeled around, afraid it was the stalker, relieved to find Howard.

  I sighed. "It's only you. Shouldn't you be tending to Belle?"

  "No sense. She's dead."

  That was that. I couldn't have kept my stomach contents if I'd tried. I clung to my car door, retching onto the ground and heaving at the smell of it.

  "You were lucky the guy didn't kill you," Howard said.

  I coughed and spit the sour saliva that collected in my mouth onto the ground.

  "Yeah, lucky me."

  "Maybe not so lucky."

  I looked up at him. His face was like a cold stone. I didn't like the way he stood, I didn't like the way his hands clenched at his sides. He was giving me the creeps. The index card system in my brain started flipping all by itself. It stopped here and there at various cards. One card read, "it doubled after that." Another, written in capital letters, said, "they were written as if he actually knew me." Still another, the last one, had the words typed neatly across card, "others came in from different accoun
ts. He must have a ton of hot mail accounts, because I didn't always know it was from him."

  Things began to fit. Even as Howard stood there clenching and unclenching his hands, I started to understand that Hannah had two stalkers; one who loved her from afar, and one who loved her from so damn near he could reach out and touch her. My mouth dried up.

  Howard made the first move. He lunged for me with his hands stretched for my throat. All I could figure was that he wanted to get rid of me, and that he could easily say that the stalker and I had fought--because we had--and that we ended up killing each other. Oh, it was too perfect. I'd be damned if I'd fall into his little scheme.

  His hands gripped my throat and tried to squeeze the life out of it. But I'd have none of it. I hadn't taken my own life weeks ago, and I'd be damned if someone else would take it now.

  Like I said in the beginning, time is MackIntosh toffee. Cold, it breaks off in chunks, big, small, definite chunks. Warm, it pulls apart in thick, gooey strands. For me, dying was warm toffee. Lots of things go through your mind when you think you're dying. And here I was experiencing it for the second time in one day and the third in one week. Hannah came to mind, of course. And with thoughts of her came the will to live. Come right down to it, I guess I had been struggling toward the light all along. But the light wasn't one at the end of a long, dark tunnel but at the beginning. It was a blinding light, the will to live. Like Dad's lobster boat light shining down on black water, it illuminated one small spot and left dark everything else. I didn't care what it took, I would be around to enjoy laying down with Hannah many, many more times.

  I reached for the colonel. Good old colonel. He fit in my hand perfectly. As Howard and I fell onto the ground, and rolled about, I tried my damnedest to end up on top. The colonel cast a long narrow shadow onto Howard's face that grew fatter and rounder and fatter and rounder until there was no shadow, only hard white plastic. Red fluid dribbled out from beneath the colonel's body and for the second time in one day, hands fell from my throat.

  I wanted desperately to be sick. I wanted to strip down to nothing and scream at heaven at the unfairness of it all. I wanted to sob. I wanted to curl into a small ball and pretend I was a rock in my garden and nothing else, not a man, not a person, just a rock without feeling, without life.