by Tim Kizer
After lunch Richard received a call from his and Mary’s friend Jane Porter. She reminded him that her birthday party was taking place at her house today at six in the afternoon. Richard said that he didn’t know about the party.
“Did Mary forget to tell you?” Jane asked.
“I suppose she did.”
“Well, now you know.” Jane laughed.
"Who else is coming?"
Richard decided that, if there were going to be fewer than six guests, he would tell Jane that he was busy and couldn’t come. It would be difficult for him to fade into the background in a small group of people.
“Brian, Pam. Do you remember Brian and Pam?”
Richard remembered neither Brian nor Pam.
“How many people are you expecting?”
“Around ten. You should come. It’s going to be fun."
"Okay. I wish Mary had told me about the party earlier. It takes time to find a good gift."
"I’m very easy to please, Richard.” Joan laughed. “Is Mary home?”
Richard considered telling Joan that Mary had gone missing, and in the end elected to do it in person at the party.
“No.”
“So I’m telling Mark that you’re coming. No last-minute excuses, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Don't forget, the party starts at six."
“Got it.”
“Bye-bye.”
“Bye.” Richard hung up.
Should he go?
Why not? It would help him clear his mind and unwind. He might have a good time. Jane’s husband, Mark, knew a lot of dirty jokes, which he wasn’t ashamed to tell.
It took Richard less than five minutes to come up with a gift idea for Jane. He figured that a gift card would be an acceptable present. After all, he had an excuse: he had just heard about the party. Having nothing else to do, he drove to the nearest grocery store and bought a fifty dollar Best Buy gift card.
3.
After the trip to the grocery store, Richard watched TV for an hour and then, out of boredom, leafed through the family photo album, which had been started and maintained by Mary.
The first four pages of the album were filled with their wedding pictures. The wedding was small and modest; they had held it at his friend’s house. He had been glad Mary hadn’t pressured him to have a full-blown wedding reception.
Their honeymoon photos. They had spent their honeymoon in the Bahamas. They both looked very happy in these pictures.
Here was a photo of Mary’s mom, Doris Logan. She was pretty old and slightly resembled his mother. Mary's dad’s picture was next. The man had died a few years ago.
Photos of Mary. Mary in front of the White House, Mary on a horse, Mary on a beach, Mary in the water, Mary with friends, Mary at somebody's wedding, Mary with her brother, Mary at some party. There were a lot of Mary’s pictures in the album. He personally didn't like to be photographed.
Pictures of Mary's friends. Why the hell had she put them in here? He would throw them all away tonight. And a few weeks later he would throw Mary’s pictures, too.
Richard closed the album and went upstairs to dress for Jane's party.
4.
There were at least a dozen people in Jane's house when Richard arrived there. Jane kissed him on the cheek and asked, “Where’s Mary?”
"She's out of town."
The funny thing was, this statement was factually correct.
Richard mingled with the guests in the living room for about fifteen minutes and then stepped outside into the backyard. When Jane came up to him, he was sitting in a plastic chair by the pool, sipping red wine from a glass.
"Wonderful weather, isn’t it?” Jane said.
"Yes, it is." Richard nodded.
"What do you think about my dress?" She twirled around once and then put her hands on her hips.
"It's fantastic." Richard took a sip of soda from his glass.
"By the way, I saw Mary yesterday," Jane said.
“Where?” Richard lifted his eyes to Jane.
“At the Alderwood Mall. I was there with my nephews."
"What time?"
"Around five.”
Richard drew his brows together. He must have misheard Jane.
“Yesterday?”
"Yes. I met her at the food court."
"Are you sure it was Mary?"
"Yes."
Was it the same ghost that Susie had seen?
Richard drew a deep breath, and asked, “What was she wearing?”
“Pink slacks and a white top. Why?”
Where had the blue jeans gone?”
Do ghosts change their clothes?
Why not?
“I don’t think it was Mary." Richard put his glass on the table and got up.
"Does Mary have a twin sister?”
“No.”
“Then it was Mary.”
"Did you talk to her?"
"Yes. She said she was waiting for someone. I decided she was waiting for you."
"What exactly did she say?"
“’Hello, nice to see you, Jane.’ That's what she said. She didn't tell you that we met?"
“No, she didn’t.”
Richard turned to the pool. A gentle breeze was blowing in his face. He could smell a faint odor of chlorine.
“Why don’t you ask Mary herself?” Jane placed her hand on his shoulder.
Richard gave her a long look, and said, "I can’t do it. Mary went missing two weeks ago."
"What?" Jane's eyes opened wide. "She went missing? Are you serious?"
Did she really think he would joke about his wife going missing? Come on, Jane!
"Absolutely."
"Oh my God! I can’t believe it!" Jane pressed her fist against her mouth, as if trying to prevent a scream. "Jesus! I’m so sorry."
She stared blankly into space for the next few seconds, saying nothing. Richard kept silent, too, letting Jane mull over the news without distraction. At last Jane said, "But I’m positive it was Mary. And she recognized me, too." She took Richard by the wrist. “Did she leave you? Why did she leave you, Richard?”
“I don’t know what’s going on, to be honest with you. I haven’t seen or spoken to Mary in over two weeks. The police are saying she might have been murdered.”
Maybe he should ask Jane if she believed in ghosts?
“This is so weird.” Jane knitted her eyebrows. “What if it was Mary’s doppelganger I met at the mall?”
“Doppelganger?”
“Yes, it’s like a double.”
“I don’t think it was a doppelganger.” Richard scratched his temple. “You could be right. Maybe it was Mary after all.”
"Are the police looking for her? What else did they tell you?"
"They seem to be clueless." Richard shut his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
"I’m not surprised. My cousin’s house was robbed last year, and they never found the robbers.” Jane patted him on the back reassuringly. “I hope she comes back soon.”
“Did she act strange in any way when you met her yesterday?”
“No. She looked fine. She acted normal.”
“Did she have any bruises, or scratches, or cuts?”
What if it wasn’t a ghost or a doppelganger?
Then who could it have been?
Maybe Mary did have a twin sister?
“No, I didn’t see any bruises or scratches.”
“Has she called you in the last two weeks?”
Could Jane be lying?
Could she and Lisa have conspired to confuse him, to drive him insane?
I can’t rule that out, can I?
"No, she hasn’t.” A moment later Jane added, “Let me check my cellphone. I may have accidentally missed her call.”
“You can do it after the party.”
“Okay.”
With a crooked smile, Richard said, “So you think Mary left me, huh?”
Jane sho
ok her head vigorously. “No, no. I don’t know why I said that.”
Could Mary be alive? Could she have risen from the dead?
"Let me know if you hear from Mary, okay?" Jane squeezed his arm.
"Sure."
"Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“No, I don’t think so. Thanks for asking.”
“Call me if you need anything."
Richard nodded.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Jane said.
“I hope so.”
After Jane went back into the house, Richard got up from the chair. As he walked to the door, his heart suddenly twisted and his forehead broke into a sweat. He pressed his hand to his chest, overcome by irrational fear. He stopped and drew two deep breaths.
Calm down, man, everything's fine. Go inside the house and have fun. That's what you came here for, isn’t it? As for Mary, you can think about her tomorrow.
Having shaken off the panic, Richard continued to the door.
5.
On the way home from Jane’s, all Richard could think of was Jane's story.
So what did he have here? He had Jane, who swore that she had seen Mary alive yesterday. He also knew that he had buried Mary more than two weeks ago. He had a weird situation on his hands: two weeks after her death, a dead woman had showed up at a mall, walking on her own, and talked to her friend. She had worn pink slacks, although she had been buried in blue jeans. And, unlike the skin of the living dead in the movies, her skin was not gray and rotten.
There were two possible rational (i.e., not involving ghosts and other supernatural nonsense) explanations: either he had imagined burying Mary, or Jane was lying.
Which one of these was correct?
Richard was sure that Mary’s fall from the bridge and her subsequent burial were not a figment of his imagination.
So did he believe that Jane had made her story up?
But what about Mary’s phone call to Lisa? What was the chance that both Lisa and Jane were bullshitting him?
The thing was, neither Lisa nor Jane had a reason to play a hoax on him. Jane might have heard of Lisa, but Richard was pretty sure they didn’t socialize with each other, which meant there could be no conspiracy between the two.
Could Mary be alive? Was he willing to admit that the time had come to consider this possibility?
No, he wasn’t ready to venture into this territory. He did not want to do it; he was an educated and rational man, you know.
Dead people did not come back to life. Unless your father was God, of course. Mary’s dad was a truck driver.
But what about ghosts? Did he find it conceivable that Mary’s ghost was roaming the earth?
He hadn’t made up his mind on this matter yet. Richard couldn’t explain why, but ghosts were a different story.
Richard was satisfied with his reaction to what Jane had told him. He hadn’t lost his head and was still able to think clearly. He couldn’t explain what had happened to Jane at the mall, but he knew how he could use this incident for his benefit. He would ask Jane to tell Norris that she had seen Mary yesterday. Her testimony should take the suspicion off him and, hopefully, convince the detective that Mary was a runaway wife.
Norris might not close the investigation, but his zeal would be gone for sure.
‘We don’t look for runaway wives.’ These were Norris’s words.
As soon as he arrived home, Richard called Jane and asked her to tell Norris about her latest encounter with Mary.
"No problem," Jane said. "Is tomorrow okay?"
"Yes, tomorrow is fine."
"So now you think it was Mary?"
"Yes, it looks like you were right."
"I hope they find her soon."
"I hope so, too."
CHAPTER 12
1.
The next morning he woke at six o’clock. Lying in bed, he realized that he still had the urge to go to the forest where he had buried Mary and check whether it was being searched by the police. After a long hesitation, he decided to go.
This time he exited the highway onto the road leading to the fateful bridge and drove for one and a half miles before making a U-turn. He saw no signs of police presence. Of course, it was possible that the cops had finished combing the woods at some point before today. However, something was telling Richard that the forest hadn’t been searched yet. He wanted to believe that was the case.
2.
Richard entered the living room and froze. There were prints on the walls, in the same spots as those he had thrown away.
His heart dropped to the floor. He walked up to the wall and stretched his hand to a print, which depicted a sprawling oak in a meadow. He took the print off the wall and fixed his eyes on it. He stood stock-still for half a minute. When he came out of a stupor, he muttered, “Shit,” and tossed the print on the sofa. Then he uttered a loud growl and started tearing other prints off the walls. He was seized by rage and fear at the same time. He ran through the entire house collecting the newly-hung prints, returned to the living room, and piled the prints on the coffee table. Panting, he slumped into an armchair. Anger was choking Richard; he kept clenching and opening his fists. He grabbed the print from the sofa, ripped the canvas off the frame, and rent it into two pieces.
"Bitch," Richard hissed through his teeth. He picked up another painting. "I'm going to get you."
He looked around and shouted, "Hey, you! Come out, I want to talk to you!"
Richard didn't think she was still in the house, but he felt he had to do something, even if it was pointless.
"You think it's funny? Well, let me tell you it’s not. Come out, sweetheart, don't be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
There was no answer.
“What do you want from me?”
He opened the attic hatch, pulled the ladder down, and began climbing. When he stuck his head into the attic, he switched on the light and looked around, ready to jump from the ladder at the slightest movement. It crossed his mind that he should have gotten the gun from the safe. Just as he had expected, the attic was empty. Richard closed the hatch and sprinted to the master bedroom. On the way there, he remembered that he had already checked every room on the second floor while removing the prints. He searched the master bedroom anyway and found no one.
Richard calmed down after he lay on the sofa, gazing at the ceiling, for several minutes.
What was he going to do with the prints?
Burn them. He ought to burn them. He could do it in the grill.
What would the point of this dramatic gesture be? The prints didn’t feel pain or humiliation, did they? He would simply throw them in a Dumpster.
3.
While he stared at the prints, Richard thought about the places he had lived in the last decade. Cincinnati. Dallas. Buffalo. Chicago. Boston. Richmond. Mexico City. Puerto Vallarta. He had done a lot of moving. And he had killed plenty of people. He had not killed anyone during his stay in Mexico, which was a good thing.
He would hate to move again, but he would do it if he had to.
To distract himself from somber thoughts, Richard picked up the print from the top of the pile. Settling on the couch, he noticed a tea bag wrapper under the coffee table and shook his head. He should not throw trash on the floor. He was better than that.
Richard grabbed the wrapper and put it on the table. Then he started studying the print he had picked up. After he spent half a minute looking at the blooming lotus depicted on it, he turned the print around. Attached to the back of the frame was a small piece of paper, which read: "The Orchid Art Gallery. 2124 2nd Ave, Seattle, WA."
"Orchid," Richard said in a toneless voice.
An interesting idea came to his mind: he should drop by this gallery and talk to the salesclerks. They must remember the buyer; odds were it wasn’t every day that someone purchased ten prints at once.
These pictures must have cost at least three hundred dollars.
What kind of i
diot wastes three hundred on a stupid prank?
Richard looked at his watch. It was twenty two minutes past eleven. He would go to the gallery right now. He would throw the prints away after he came back from the gallery.
4.
The visit to the Orchid Art Gallery was not particularly productive. The salesclerk, whose name, according to his tag, was Luis, said he remembered the woman who had purchased the prints.
“She was here yesterday,” he said.
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
Richard took Mary’s photo from his breast pocket and showed it to Luis.
“Was it her?”
“It’s hard to tell. She was wearing dark sunglasses.”
“But it could be her?”
“I guess.”
Richard gave Luis a sad look and said, “You see, my wife went missing a week ago. I believe she’s the woman that bought these pictures.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Did she pay with a credit card or cash?”
“Cash.”
Richard glanced at the security camera. “Can I see the surveillance tape?”
“It’s already been recorded over. Sorry.”
The salesclerk was probably lying, but there was nothing Richard could do about it. Making a scene was not going to help.
Before leaving, Richard made the salesclerk promise to call him as soon as the woman came to the gallery again.
He threw all the prints in a Dumpster two miles from his house. He made sure nobody saw him do it.
5.
The doorbell rang. Richard rose from the chair, thinking that it must be Norris: the detective had called him forty minutes ago and said that he would like to pay him a visit today. Richard’s hunch turned out to be correct—standing on the porch was Steve Norris.
"Did someone die?" The detective pointed at Richard's neighbor's house.
"Yes. Jim Dystel. My neighbor."
An hour earlier, on his way home, Richard had noticed half a dozen men and women dressed in black in the front yard belonging to the Dystels. He had inquired, and had been told that Jim had died inside his house three days ago after breaking his neck in an accidental fall. Richard had wondered why Tina, Jim’s wife, hadn’t told him about her husband’s death before.
