by Nikki Chase
If I can't go home, though, where could I go?
I guess I can stay at a hotel, but that would cost me some money. If it turns out that someone's really after me, even if he’s not related to Stan, then I’ll have to move soon. I’ll need a sizeable chunk of savings to survive, if I were to lose the income from teaching.
Besides, I’ve been frugal all my life. The thought of wasting money on a hotel room, when I already have a perfectly nice bedroom at home, offends me on a basic level.
Where can I sleep for free without having to resort to a park bench, though?
Wait. I know the perfect place. It's clean, it's free, and it has everything I need. It's perfect. Besides, I need to go there tomorrow anyway to let the oven repairman in. I'm sure Bertha won't mind.
My car grinds to a halt, a few houses down the street from mine. As I turn off the ignition, I wonder if Jacob can hear and recognize the sound of my car engine.
I try to be quiet as I open and close the car door. I try to walk slowly and quietly. It's silly, considering Jacob probably has the TV on and he doesn't have the hearing range of Superman.
I lift the welcome mat by Bertha's front door and take out the spare key. Just as I stick it into the keyhole, someone grabs me from behind, immobilizing my arms.
Initially, I think it's Jacob because, let’s face it, he has a taste for roughly restraining me. As soon as the hold tightens painfully, I realize it can't possibly be him. It's all wrong. This body is softer, a lot smaller. I start to panic.
Hands wrap over my nose and mouth. I try to scream, but it comes out muted. A few grains of something enter my nostrils as I struggle to breathe.
The hands over my face are small. A woman’s hands?
Before I can come to a conclusion, I lose control over my body and everything goes dark.
Chapter 33
Jacob
“Do you remember a woman who came in here, brown hair, green eyes? She would've had a sick Beagle with her,” I say to the young vet tech behind the counter at the animal clinic.
“Oh, Max!” His eyes light up with recognition.
“Yes! Are they still here?” I draw air into my lungs and hold it there in anticipation.
“He is, but she’s gone home.”
“When?”
“Like, three, four hours ago?” The teenager raises his voice at the end of the sentence like it’s a question, when it’s obviously just a statement.
“That long?” I glance at the clock on the wall behind the kid. It’s almost midnight now. Where could Jessica be if she’s not here?
“Yeah.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No. She didn’t say much, really, except for the time she was on the phone. She was really worried about Max.”
“Who did she call?”
“Oh, the vet recommended she call the police and Animal Services to report the incident. Max was poisoned,” he says with sad, puppy-dog eyes.
“How’s Max doing?”
“It’s too soon to say. He’s resting. We’ll have to see how he does tomorrow,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
I turn around to leave, then walk back to the counter and ask for a pen and paper. I quickly scribble my name and number on it. I slide the note over the counter toward the vet tech. Glancing at his name tag, I say, “Brian, right? Please call me if Jessica comes back. I’m worried about her.”
“You mean, she could be in danger?”
“Yeah,” I say. I can’t be sure how Jessica’s doing, but it’s a possibility and Brian may be more inclined to help if he believes Jessica’s in trouble. “Yeah, she could be, so this is really important, okay? Call me if you see her.”
“I will.” He looks at me with determination in his eyes as he takes the piece of paper I wrote on.
“Thanks.” I nod at him and I open the door. I like Brian. He seems like a good kid.
As I hop back onto my Harley Davidson and cruise the quiet streets of Ashbourne, I wonder where Jessica is. She has stopped replying to my text messages, and she has also been ignoring my phone calls. I must’ve left her at least five voice messages.
She must be furious at me. I don’t blame her. If she had come with me on that wild goose chase, Max may not be alive right now.
I was an idiot for insisting on going after Steve and Caine.
What can I say? I used to be in the Navy SEAL. I’m more comfortable going on the attack, rather than tending to the injured.
That’s not a very good excuse, though. I’m a civilian now—have been for quite a while—and I should unlearn my training and start thinking like normal people.
What would a normal person do when his girlfriend’s dog has been poisoned and she’s missing?
Call the police, I guess.
A part of me wants to go, fuck the police.
After the half-assed way they handled the anonymous letter, I don’t really want to deal with them anymore. They may have more resources than I do, but it doesn’t matter if they don’t do anything with those resources. I was sure I could accomplish more than them just because I put in more effort.
And yet, what have I really accomplished so far?
Sure, I checked the house and found Max after the break-in, but things would’ve turned out exactly the same had Jessica just waited for the police to arrive.
And I changed Jessica’s locks, but it turned out the asshole responsible for this mess doesn’t even need to open any doors to terrorize Jessica.
It’s hard to tell whether me sleeping at Jessica’s has helped her at all. I know I enjoy it, and I think she does too, at least up until tonight.
Maybe it’s time to try acting like a normal person for once and call the cops.
Chapter 34
Jacob
As soon as I pull up to Jessica’s driveway, I see the house is still completely dark.
I turn off the engine of my bike and make the call.
“Ashbourne Police Department. How can I help you?” The woman on the other end of the line is all business, her voice crisp and professional.
“I’d like to report a missing person.” To make the case more solid, I add, “And animal poisoning. Someone poisoned her dog earlier this evening and now she’s missing.”
“Okay, what’s the name of the missing person and her relationship to you?”
“Jessica Lake. She’s my girlfriend.”
I feel weird about the fact that the first time I ever call Jessica my girlfriend is during a conversation with the police. I don’t even know what we are, now that she’s not responding to my texts and calls, and has told me to stop sleeping at her place.
“Okay, how long has this person been missing?”
“She took the dog to the vet at around six, so it’s been six hours.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, but we only investigate cases like this when the person has been missing for at least twenty-four hours.” She sounds impatient, like she has a tall stack of reports on her desk to review, or ten more phone calls on hold to deal with, or a dozen more donuts to eat.
“No. Please, you don’t understand. There have been a few strange things that happened to her over the past month. There was a break-in at her house, she received a threatening letter, and her dog got poisoned. Something’s going on.”
“Okay. Give me a second.” She pauses while typing noises fill the background. “I just pulled up recent reports involving Jessica Lake. I see all three instances you mentioned on the system.”
“Yes. She told me she was going to call the police about her dog earlier tonight. I’ve been here at her house the whole time, but I haven’t seen any cops.”
“We told Miss Lake that we’ll send someone tomorrow morning.”
“What time?”
“Miss Lake didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t been able to reach her,” I say.
“How have you tried to reach her, Sir?”
“I
texted her, called her, and I’m actually at her house right now.”
“She’s not responding to your attempts at communication?”
“No.”
“Did you have a disagreement?”
“Well, yes, but—”
The woman sighs audibly into the phone and cuts me off, saying, “I’m sorry, Sir. We can’t help you right now. Give it some time. If she doesn’t turn up after twenty-four hours, call us again. But I have a feeling she’ll get in touch once she’s no longer angry with you.”
“Wait, it’s not—”
“Thank you for calling, Sir,” the woman says before she ends the call.
I stare at the bright screen of my phone with my jaw open. I can’t believe she just hung up on me! I almost wish I was using a landline so I could slam the phone down.
I remain seated, straddling the bike, as I think. Where could Jessica be? What else can I do to find her?
Jessica’s right. It’s not Steve or Caine. I saw for myself how clueless Steve is about everything, and Caine… Well, like Jessica said, there’s little reason why such a powerful man would concern himself with trivial matters, and even less reason why he’d use such cheap scare tactics.
Whoever is doing this, he must know that he’s not accomplishing anything other than scaring Jessica. If the perpetrator is a man like Caine or Stan, then it would make more sense for him to go right for the jugular—kill Jessica for revenge or kidnap her first to prolong her suffering.
My chest tightens and my extremities turn cold at the thought of Jessica being in the hands of someone who wants to harm her.
Why would anyone do this to Jessica, if it isn’t related to Nancy Jones’ death? Jessica couldn’t hurt a fly.
I don’t know what else I can do. Maybe the woman at the police station is right. Maybe Jessica’s just angry with me, so she chooses to not come home tonight, knowing I’m here waiting for her. As much as that would suck, it would still be much better than the alternative. I hope to God the policewoman is right.
It’s almost one in the morning, but I can’t go to sleep like this. I can’t work either, even though the Japanese market is still open. I don’t know what else to do or where else to look.
I take a deep breath and look up at the stars.
I grew up in the city, so when I first got stationed in the Middle East, that was the first time I’d ever seen the stars without light pollution blocking the view.
Ever since I started traveling and staying in small towns all the time, I’ve developed a habit of taking comfort from the night sky. It’s often the only constant in my life.
It’s not like I don’t have good people in my life. I have good friends and a good family, but most of the time they’re not physically near me. My friends are scattered all over the country. After retirement, my parents moved to Costa Rica, where their pensions go a long way.
The stars are there to celebrate the good days with me, when I’m hundreds of miles away from anyone I know. They’re there on bad days too, reminding me that my problems will go away soon.
The stars will still be there the next day, the next week, the next month, the next year, the next decade, the next century. Looking up at them makes my problems seem trivial.
I get off my bike and start to pace the sidewalk. Maybe a night stroll will give me the cool head I need so desperately right now.
After taking just a few steps from Jessica’s house, I see it. Jessica’s beat-up white Toyota, parked in front of Bertha’s house.
The lights in the living room are turned on. I know Bertha is out of town right now, so Jessica’s probably in there. I take a deep, relieved breath. I know she has the keys to Bertha’s place, but in my panic, I didn’t even think about her staying there for the night.
Judging by the lights, Jessica’s probably still awake. Perhaps she’s worried about Max, or angry at me. I guess she just doesn’t want to see me tonight, but at least she’s safe. Maybe I should leave her alone.
Yet a small, angry voice within me protests. Why did she do that without telling me? She should’ve known I’d be worried sick, especially now, when Max has just gotten poisoned. She should’ve at least texted me to let me know she’s okay.
I can’t believe after everything I’ve done for her, she’d just ghost me again like she did three years ago. Maybe I should barge in there and give her a piece of my mind.
I stand there in front of Bertha’s house, trying to come to a decision in the dark. Should I try to be more understanding, and give her some space? Or should I give in to my anger?
Chapter 35
Jessica
Is it my phone that’s ringing?
I try to move my hand so I can see who’s calling, but I can’t move it. I can’t move my hands or my arms.
I open my eyes slowly. Why are all my movements so slow? Why is it so hard to do anything?
“Oh, you’re finally awake,” says a woman. Her voice sounds familiar. Who could it be? “This guy has been calling you so many times. He must really like you.”
With great effort, I turn my head toward the source of the voice and see her, standing over me with my phone in her hand.
I part my lips and open my jaw. My mouth is so dry. Coaxing my vocal cords back to life, I say, “Christine?”
“Yes!” She grins like we’ve just run into each other at the mall. “Surprise surprise, it’s me.”
I look around me. This is Bertha’s house.
“What are you doing here?” I squint as I look up at Christine. The light right behind her head is getting in my eyes.
“Oh, come on, be nice. That’s no way to greet a neighbor.” She laughs, then continues, “But then again, what can I expect from you? All this time you’ve just been putting on a mask, pretending to be a good girl, an innocent schoolteacher. I can’t expect you to play that role when you’re like this.”
“Like...what? What did you do to me?” I don’t feel any restraints on my body. No rope, zip ties, or masking tape. But I can’t move. My whole body feels heavy, like gravity has an extra strong hold on me right now.
“I just gave you something to calm you down so we can have a conversation, darling. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“You drugged me?”
“Drug is such an ugly word. Let’s just say I medicated you.” Christine smiles at me, but the shadow on her face makes her look creepy. Her facial features look all distorted. Has she always looked like that?
“You made me snort some kind of date-rape drug.” I say these brave, accusing words, but my speech is slow and slurred. I’m sure I don’t sound half as intimidating as I try to.
Christine’s foot connects with my shoulder. It’s not a particularly hard kick, but I don’t have the strength to put up any kind of resistance. I slide down against the wall I’m leaning on and fall into a heap on the floor.
Shit. Why can’t I do anything, or move any part of my body? What has she done to me?
While the kick wasn’t particularly painful, the realization of just how weak I am hits me like a truck.
I’m completely vulnerable. Christine can do anything to me and there’s nothing I can do about it. And from the looks of things, she wants to do all kinds of evil things to me.
I don’t know if it’s just the lighting or if I’ve just noticed something that has always been obvious, but she looks crazy. She looks like she belongs in an institution.
“Did you give the same drug to Max?” I shift on the floor so I can keep my eyes on Christine.
“You mean the dog?” She pauses and gives me a weird smile. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t waste such an expensive medicine on an animal. That was just good old rat poison.”
“It was all you? The letter, the break-in?” I frown. I can’t believe it. I can see her flapping her mouth, saying some words, but what she’s saying doesn’t make any sense.
“Yes,” she says calmly, like she hasn’t just admitted to being the perpetrator of multiple crimes.
�
��Why?” I’m thoroughly confused. I haven’t done anything to this woman. I’ve always tried to be a good neighbor. I’ve never even played loud music or leave Max’s shit on anybody’s lawn. What reason could she have to hate me so much, she’d commit crimes and risk being arrested?
“Isn’t it obvious?” She gives me a look that I often give to misbehaving students, the look that says she knows that I know what I’ve done.
Except I have no idea how I’ve wronged her.
Christine clicks her tongue, annoyed at me for playing innocent. “I have to protect Ashbourne from women like you.”
“Women like me? What are you talking about?”
“You know darn well what I’m talking about. Women like you lure men into your trap and ruin families.”
“What?” I must’ve heard wrong. That doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever done in my life.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re innocent. I know your kind. You seduce married men, you take their money, you make them forget all about their families,” she says with utter conviction, as if she has seen me do every single one of those things with her own eyes.
Sure, there were some married men who visited the Pussy Cat, but my relationship with them—and with all the customers except for Jacob—was strictly professional. If anyone should be blamed for married men who stray into strip joints, it’s not me. It’s those men.
That’s what I would’ve told Christine if I weren’t so weak. It’s hard to even say short sentences, much less defend my innocence in a debate on the institution of marriage and the moral responsibility of cheating spouses.
“I never did that,” I say instead. Eloquent argument, I know.
“My Toby was a great husband. We had the perfect family. Everything was perfect. Sure, we weren’t as active in the bedroom as we used to be, but we had kids and careers. Nobody just keeps doing it like rabbits forever.”
