by Corey Brown
Suzanne takes his hand and places one foot on the curb. She does not break into a million pieces, but losing David is not a dream, either. She cannot float away. Climbing out of the limousine, Suzanne stares at the hospital entrance, people coming and going, moving about as if nothing is wrong. She feels like crying out, she wants to shout, don’t you know?
Suzanne becomes aware the driver has not let go of her hand. She looks at their hands, his holding hers.
“Your luggage will be delivered to your hotel room,” the driver says. “I will take care of it personally.” Then he slips his hand out of hers and touches her shoulder. “If it means anything, I drove him to dinner on his last night. He was very kind and generous to me, I liked him. I can tell he was a good man.”
A tear puddles in the corner of Suzanne’s eye, she forces a smile, her lower lip trembles. She wants to say thank you, but all she can do is cry.
The limo driver looks away, his own eyes pooling up. “This way, Ms. Carlson.”
He guides her through the hospital lobby to the information desk.
“This is Ms. Carlson,” the driver says to the receptionist, his words almost catching. “She’s here about her brother.”
“Ms. Carlson, I am so sorry for your loss,” the young man says, standing up. “Doctor Robiere is waiting for you.”
A few yards away, Sawyer Clark looks up from the magazine she was not reading. She has been waiting for this moment, dreading it, ever since David Carlson had been pronounced dead at two o’clock this morning.
Sawyer had considered just going home. She had no real obligation to stay, David had died of natural causes or so said the doctors. But Suzanne Carlson would want to know about her brother’s last few hours of life, she would want to know what really happened.
Still, would Suzanne want to meet the woman he had been with? How would Suzanne take the news that David had been in bed with a married woman when he died? Without thinking about it, Sawyer touched her wedding band, turned it on her finger.
“Please come with me,” the receptionist is saying. “We have a private waiting room, it isn’t far.”
“Excuse me,” Sawyer says, approaching cautiously. “Ms. Carlson, may I speak with you?”
Suzanne looked at Sawyer for a moment. “Are you the one?” She says, quietly. “You were with him?”
So, she already knew. What would happen now?
Sawyer nods then says to the receptionist, “Ms. Carlson and I need some time alone.”
The receptionist stares at Sawyer for a second then shifts his gaze to Suzanne as if to ask, is this all right?
“I’ll see the doctor shortly,” Suzanne says. “We just need a few minutes.”
“There is a room down this hall.” He points absently then says, “The third door on the left.”
“Thank you,” Suzanne said.
“Can I bring you anything? Coffee, tea?”
“Not for me, thank you.” Suzanne gestures toward Sawyer.
“No, thank you,” Sawyer says. “I’m fine”
“Very well, the fifth door on the left. It should be available.”
The two women walk in silence, the weight of which hangs heavy between them like a thick curtain. Sawyer spins her wedding band again. Had Suzanne noticed the ring? Would she care? Sawyer feels foolish. She is married, why is she here? Still, she did have strong feelings for David and she wants Suzanne to understand.
She had only known him for one evening, but in those few short hours Sawyer thought they had found something special together. They had a connection, something.
Or was it just loneliness misdirecting her? She feels foolish.
The door latches behind Sawyer, the soft click signaling the start of conversation. They remain standing, and the distance between them signaling suspicion. Sawyer looks closely at Suzanne. There is no doubt that she is drained. Licks of hair are out of place, almost no makeup, her shocking green eyes now misty and dull.
“Ms. Carlson, I’m Sawyer Clark. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. David was such a good man.”
“I was told he’d been with someone,” Suzanne says. “David never mentioned your name, were you close?”
Sawyer wonders if Suzanne had intended the question to bite, because it certainly had teeth.
“Yes,” Sawyer says, softly. “Well, no, I mean, we just met yesterday.”
“I see.” Suzanne glances at Sawyer’s left hand. “You’re married?”
“Yes, yes I am. Look, Ms. Carlson I---”
“You called the ambulance?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” Suzanne says. “Thank you for being there. I’m told he died from cardiac arrest, a heart attack. I suppose, without you, he never would have had a chance.”
“Maybe.” Sawyer’s shoulders fall a little. “I don’t know. I wish it had made the difference.” Sawyer sighs. “Look, Ms. Carlson, I can only imagine what you must think of me, but things aren’t as they appear. David was very special. I knew it from the moment I met him.”
“David and I have different beliefs,” Suzanne says. “I can’t condone his being with you, but David was special, he was a good man. Sometimes he just didn’t exercise good judgment.”
Her tone, the words---- he just didn’t exercise good judgment---- sting like a razor burn. Sawyer smiles sadly. She wants to say it wasn’t like that, she wants to say their time together had been wonderful, loving and tender, not cheap or dirty.
“That’s a beautiful crucifix,” Sawyer says, looking at the delicate, silver cross hanging around Suzanne’s neck. “Is that the one your parents gave you?”
Without thinking, Suzanne touches the crucifix. Normally she kept the necklace tucked inside her top, but for some reason the cross was out.
“How did you know?”
“David told me,” Sawyer says. “He told me all about you, he was so proud. David said your folks gave it to you because of the mission work you did during college. Brazil, wasn’t it?”
“It’s very old. My mom found it in a little shop in Jerusalem.” Suzanne fiddles with the necklace a second longer then drops it back inside her top. “My parents used to visit the Holy Land a lot.” Suzanne draws a sharp breath and says, “Yes, it was Brazil. I was twenty and spent a year ministering to the natives of the Pantanal. It’s beautiful there. I’ve always wanted to go back.” Suzanne shakes her head dismissively. “Why am I telling you this?”
Suzanne lowers her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says, quietly. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just don’t like…I’m struggling with the fact that you’re married. I think what you and David did was wrong. It was a sin. I’d always hoped he would believe, you know, become a Christian. But instead he died committing adultery. And now he’s---- ” Her face contorts as she fights back tears. “Now he’s lost forever,” Suzanne says, dabbing her eyes with her fingertips.
“I don’t know what happens to people when they die,” Sawyer says, her own voice growing husky. “Believe it or not, I go to church almost every Sunday. I have all my life. I listen to the sermons, say the prayers, take Communion and I really don’t know what it all means. But I do know how I feel about David. It may have been a sin for us to be together, but we didn’t intend it that way.”
Sawyer inhales, the air catching making her shudder. “I miss him so much,” she says, her voice trembling.
“I miss him, too. But he’s in God’s hands now.”
“He was so proud of you,” Sawyer says. “And he loved you very, very much.”
Suzanne tries to choke back the tears but she can’t. She covers her face with her hands. “Oh, I loved him, too,” she sobs. “I loved him so much. I just don’t know what to do. My parents are dead, David was all I had left.”
Sawyer nods. “I know, isn’t that why he came here, because of the accident?”
“Uh-huh.” Suzanne says, between sobs. “It was just a little over a year ago. David wanted to be here on the exact date, he wanted me to come with him but I
had to work. Then he was arrested, and he missed the day.”
“David told me about Oscar night,” Sawyer says. “He was so angry at himself for missing the anniversary. He’d planned everything, visiting the crash site, their graves, everything. Then to get in trouble like that, he was just beside himself.”
Suzanne looks up at Sawyer. “What, exactly, did he say about that night?” She says, her tears, her voice becoming more controlled. “What happened when he took that woman home?”
“Well, just that he’d gone home with an actress and their lovemaking had gotten out of control.”
“Out of control how? What did he say?”
The tone of the conversation has changed so quickly that Sawyer doesn’t know what to make of Suzanne’s question. Sawyer frowns, trying to decide how to answer.
“Look, I know his date had to go to the hospital,” Suzanne says. “And the police had lots of questions, but he never told me anything.”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Suzanne hesitates. Did she really want to know? And if so, why? What difference did it make now?
“Yes, I think I do.”
Sawyer waits a moment longer, hoping Suzanne will change her mind. But Suzanne just looks at Sawyer expectantly.
“Well,” Sawyer says. “David said that something came over him once he was alone with her. It was powerful and uncontrollable. He didn’t mean to hurt her but he couldn’t stop himself. All he wanted to do was satisfy himself with her.” Sawyer waits, thinks back, tries to remember exactly what David had said. “He told me it started even before he saw this woman, he told me…” Sawyer doesn’t want to say it.
“Told you what?”
“Suzanne, I can’t, you won’t understand. I don’t even understand, but I believed David when he said it was completely beyond his control.”
“Please tell me. So much has happened in the last three days and I just can’t make sense of it all.”
“This won’t help,” Sawyer said. “Oh honey, this won’t help at all. Just forget I said anything.”
“Forget it? How can I just forget it?” Suzanne holds out her hand, touches Sawyer’s arm. “Please, I need to know.”
Sawyer sighs, resigned. “Okay,” she says. “But hear it against the backdrop of who you know David to be. Hear it knowing what a good man he was.” Sawyer pauses, closes her eyes and says, “That night, on the way to the ceremonies, do you remember David saying he felt sick?”
“Yes, of course. We had just arrived and he suddenly turned as white as a sheet and looked like he was going to throw up.”
“Well, he wasn’t sick and his lust didn’t begin in the bedroom with the actress. He told me it started then, at that moment, in the car, with you.”
Suzanne looks bewildered. “With me? What do you mean?”
“He told me,” Sawyer says, wishing she didn’t have to continue. “That something seemed to come alive inside him, something that wasn’t him, and he wanted to take you. He wanted…to rape you.”
Confusion rains down in Suzanne’s mind. A sour feeling fills her gut and she feels instantly light-headed. The word ‘rape’ sticks in her thoughts like a knife. What is this kind of talk? How could David want to rape his own sister? He just wasn’t like that. He’d always been kind and gentle and caring, he had always treated her like a queen.
“I don’t understand,” Suzanne says. “Rape me?”
“Yes, but don’t hear it that way. David couldn’t understand it, either. I’m sure it was his love for you that kept him from hurting you.”
Anger flashes across Suzanne’s face, her eyes becoming dark. “I don’t believe you. David would never, ever do that to me.”
“That’s true, I know it. I know he could never hurt you.” Sawyer looks away, bites her lower lip then she says, “I believe he’d fallen in love with me and I think that’s what stopped him from hurting me.”
Suzanne’s eyes sparked with resentment. “Are you saying he tried to rape you?”
“Hold on, slow down,” Sawyer says, putting her hands up. Then she shakes her head. “It didn’t start out that way. We had a wonderful dinner, and he told me all about his work and you and your parents. Then we took a long walk and he shared what had happened the night of the Oscars. When we first started, you know, to make love, he was very tender and gentle. But then something happened, something changed and he became...” Sawyer’s voice trails off as if she is just now starting to understand what happened.
Sawyer looks into Suzanne’s eyes and says, “That’s when he started to rape me.”
“I don’t believe it. That just isn’t like David. I don’t believe any of this, David would never hurt me.”
“He was raping me,” Sawyer says, almost to herself, ignoring Suzanne. “He became distant and rough, almost like he was a different person. But I could see he was fighting it, I could see it in his face.”
“No,” Suzanne says, her voice sharp, angry. “It’s not true.”
I think,” Sawyer whispers. “That’s what killed him. It wasn’t a heart attack. He was fighting it, the other thing, the other David. That’s what killed him, the other David.”
Suzanne falls silent. The other thing, the other David, she echoes the sentence in her head. What other David? And how could he be dead? Nothing makes sense anymore, this was crazy talk. He didn’t die on Oscar night and hadn’t he fought it then? Why now, why did he die this time?
The room they occupy is small, no more than twelve feet square. And now it closes in on Suzanne, suffocating her. She slumps into a chair, her elbow on the armrest, a palm on her forehead. She stares at the rust-colored patterns in the chair’s fabric, circles and squares touching almost joining. Her thoughts feel like circles and squares, disparate shapes artificially forced onto a single surface. And like rust, the melting of colors. Her thoughts, these mental shapes, seem to be melting together, rusting.
Suzanne thinks about Oscar night, about David’s sudden illness. Had she seen something in his face then? Had she seen the other David? And what about before that, in his condo? She’d found David asleep, slumped over his desk having written some three hundred pages in a marathon two-day session. She had found him naked with his skin icy-cold like he was dead. She remembered how his eyes had been rolled back in their sockets, like they were gone. Was he dead then? She shudders at the thought.
“Don’t be stupid,” Suzanne says, absently. “He wasn’t dead.”
Sawyer drops into a chair positioned at a right angle from Suzanne’s “What?” She says. “Who wasn’t dead?”
Suzanne looks at Sawyer, surprised by the intrusion into her thoughts. “What? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”
“You were thinking about David. Tell me.”
“It’s not important,” Suzanne says, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. It matters, everything matters.”
Sawyer shudders, taking in a short, hard breath. Emotion floods her heart. Burning, hot tears fill her eyes.
“You may not understand what happened between David and I,” Sawyer says. “It may have been a sin, but he meant a lot to me. I don’t know why, I don’t know what happened to bring us together, but I was in love with him, I’m sure of it.” Sawyer lets out a quick, embarrassed laugh then brushes away the tear forming in the corner of her eye. “Listen to me going on,” she says. “I sound like a schoolgirl with a crush. But it’s true. I was in love with him and he’s gone and I miss him.”
Surprised by the sincerity in Sawyer’s voice, Suzanne regards her. Maybe she had misjudged Mrs. Clark. That was her last name wasn’t it, Clark? Suzanne couldn’t remember. She supposes it does not matter. Maybe she was wrong about Sawyer Clark, the woman seems genuine, real.
Sawyer swallows, putting her palm across her forehead, trying to get her feelings back on solid ground. “I could’ve left, you know,” she says. “Last night, after they brought David here, I could have gone home. I didn’t have to
stay, but I did. I stayed until they took him away. I stayed until they called you. I was here, waiting for you this morning. I didn’t want you to be alone. I just can’t believe he’s gone. I feel like I’d met the most incredible person and suddenly he’s gone.”
A whirlwind of feelings spin inside Suzanne. Conflicting messages of gratitude and disapproval well up from her heart.
“Thank you for staying with him,” Suzanne says, softly. “It means a lot to me.”
“Does it? I hope so.”
Suzanne flashes a tentative smile. “Yes, it really does.”
Sawyer looks at Suzanne then just nods.
“On that afternoon,” Suzanne says. “Before the Oscars, I went to David’s place to get dressed and to make sure he was ready. David was always late, late for everything. Anyway, I found him asleep at his desk. He’d been working for two days straight.”
Suzanne pauses, collecting her thoughts.
“You thought he was dead?” Sawyer says.
“Yes and no. I mean, obviously he really was asleep but he wasn’t moving, either. I couldn’t tell if he was even breathing and when I touched him, his skin was freezing cold. He felt like a corpse and he had these marks on his back. At the time I thought they were scratches but now I’m not sure.” Suzanne looked hard into Sawyer’s eyes. “I think they might’ve been cracks.”
A buzz, something that feels like the sound of a thousand insect wings, sweeps across Sawyer’s skin. She stiffens and sits up straight, her stomach turning jittery
“Oh my god, Suzanne, that’s exactly what happened last night. He became cold, like ice, and he started to bleed from cracks in his skin.”
“He was bleeding?” Suzanne says, her eyes growing wide.
Sawyer nods. “And his eyes…”
