Within minutes, he brings the cold copper mugs back to the table and sits down. He hands me one and says, “Cheers.”
I roll my eyes but manage to echo back a ‘Cheers’ while tapping my mug against his.
“Levin,” he says her name, getting down to business. He knows I don’t like to mince words.
“Yes,” I swallow a sip of the Mule, but I don’t taste it.
“She’s working at a resort. Started today, I’m going to check it out tomorrow.” George takes a swig and grabs a notepad out of his shirt pocket.
I purse my lips as he says this. “A resort?” I’m incredulous. I can imagine Levin interior decorating or working with various charities but not in the hospitality business waiting on others. The life I gave her ensured that others waited on her, not vice-versa.
My temper’s starting to rise, my composure slipping away. I grip the table, the wood cutting into my fingers. “There’s someone else,” I spit out, “… isn’t there?”
George shakes his nod in disagreement. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“I doubt she would give up our life for being nothing more than a servant.” Resentment is boiling over. The fact she left me, and it came out of left field, a punch to my gut. I slam the rest of the drink, the vodka and ginger beer sliding down my throat.
George squints at me and abruptly changes the subject. My slanted eyes a sign that I’m incapable of anything more than wallowing in my misery at this point.
“Any of her family still alive?” George is poised and all business. “I couldn’t find any but wanted to confirm.”
I shake my head no. “Her parents are dead. Dad died of cirrhosis and Mom died of cancer—lung cancer.” I quietly wring my hands underneath the table. “They weren't together when they passed. They got divorced when she was young, then a bad string of relationships.” I remember the story Eric told me about meeting Levin for the first time.
Though they didn't live far from each other, it might as well have been two different counties, the way he described it.
Eric grew up in a gated community in a huge, brick house that backed up to a pond on an acre of land. She lived in a trailer with her mom and her mom’s latest squeeze. She and Eric met when he was riding his bike, and she was walking up the street to a gas station to ask for a job. The story goes that he almost ran her down pedaling through a stop sign.
That’s the story of how they met, both yearning for a friend.
My face goes from dark to light and then dark again, lost in my troubled thoughts. A negative image replaced by a happy one. I picture the two of them together and know if Eric were still in the picture, there would have been no room for the three of us.
George finishes his drink, silent, both of us immersed in our own ominous, frenzied emotions.
“You thinking about your wife?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
“No, I’m not.” George is serious. “What about you? You still want to get married to her?”
“Yeah. I motion to the bartender for another Mule. “You want a second one?”
“Sure.” He nods.
“I came close a couple of times. I dated a girl seriously in college, and I thought she was the one.” I put my hands behind my head and lean back in the chair. “Then I dated another woman for a few years, but it didn’t work out.” I shrug. “Think she lives in New Mexico now.”
It goes from dead to alive as a crowd of people starts to fill the bar. It is a younger group, twenty-somethings that just got off of work, the ones who live for happy hour because of the cheap liquor. They’re excited, a sense of merriment in the air. The sticky floor and the broken stools don’t bother them—this is what they live for after graduating college and entering the real world. It’s a sense of pride being able to pull out their wad of bills, buy their friends a beer, impress the girl next to them.
They order appetizers and drinks around us, but we aren’t concerned with them. The mugs sweat, the condensation sliding its way down the smooth sides. I wish I’m in bed with Levin, my hands moving down her body soaking her in.
I exhale, feeling another jab to my insides. The jagged edges of my memory are retreating into the past.
This must be what love feels like. Crazy, because I thought I loved Heidi, thought I loved my parents, and I thought I loved Eric like a brother.
Heidi was a sweet girl at the beginning of our courtship. She didn’t like that I challenged her. Emotional abuse, she called it. She said her therapist told her that I wasn’t the right caliber for her.
That’s when I went for my benefit to see what this woman who didn’t know me had to say about me when she met me. I couldn’t tell her I was Heidi’s boyfriend.
I tried the therapy and the medications she prescribed for my depression for a while. I gave her a shot expressing my concerns about my girlfriend. She never put it together, that she was treating both of us.
It became too much when she diagnosed me with a narcissistic personality disorder. A treatment of psychotherapy is the only way to cope, she said. It would take years of therapy to try and build up these fragile relationships. A collaboration between us was necessary, she explained.
I hated her. I loved Heidi, but I hated her. The way her mouth moved when she discussed me like I wasn’t sitting ten fucking feet from her. Her coldness toward me was tantamount to her ugly stares and continuation of therapy.
But Levin. She cuts me deeper like a knife. She called me on bullshit most could never get away with.
The idea of a sharp knife makes me tingle, and I shiver involuntarily. I hoped I didn’t have to demonstrate the kind of pain I was feeling on her body.
I stumble out of the bar having drunk my feelings. The night is starting to turn into a witching hour.
Mules turn into whiskey and turn into a go at the jukebox. Levin’s and my favorite country song—the Kenny Chesney and Grace Potter ballad about tequila—gets me fired up. I almost drop a shot glass on the floor as I crumble my fist around the cool rim.
I’m envious of a young man at the bar hitting on the cute waitress, a blonde chick barely out of college—tiny frame and big boobs. She already has had a round of lip injections, and her fake lashes flutter as she flirts with him, eye fucking the shit out of him.
He’s probably thirty, one of the better-looking boy scouts here. His jeans are ripped but fashionably showing tan skin over his kneecaps, and his tight muscle shirt clings to his six-pack.
Maybe I need to get some work done. Is Levin not attracted to me? I thought I had a decent body, maybe a little soft in spots, but I think it’s pretty decent. I’ve had to go up a couple of pant sizes since I met her, but what’s the big deal? Yes, it’s not as agile or tight as it was in college, but I’m in decent shape. She’s lucky to have a man who’s focused on fitness and healthy eating.
I glance at myself in a mirror that hangs from the wall. It advertises beer, but I can see my appearance in the choppy reflection. I turn my profile looking at all sides.
I’ve seen some of the frumpy men looking like life beat them up and left them to putter along in baggy jeans and a Hawaiian shirt, unsure why they can’t fuck their wives, let alone the wait staff. They’re the same type of men who think strippers like them and want to go home with them.
Whereas I’m now unhinged, George is unaffected. His demeanor is the same—calm and collected. He drives me back to my hotel as I lean back against the headrest, the world spinning on its axis. How did everything tilt so out of whack?
I need Levin back.
The feeling of suffocation is constricting my airway. If I don’t choke to death on my feelings tonight, Levin is going to feel the wrath.
Is this how Heidi and Eric felt when the air was sucked out of their lungs—one with my bare hands and one with rope—the tight grip expelling their last breath until their hyoid bone snaps?
They both had the same expression on their faces—bulging eyes and a sense of fear which reflected in their dilated pu
pils. Both wanted me to stop. They begged for their lives. I’m not going to lie, I enjoyed the attention, the promises of what they would do if I didn’t let them die.
Death. I have always loved the word. The sense of finality. Some see it as an entrance to another side—dark or light—depending on your belief system. I see it as the end. No more pain from those that caused me suffering.
Heidi aborted a baby. She deserved to die. She killed a child so she could act like one. She also cheated. An unforgivable sin if you ask me.
Eric got greedy and self-serving. He caused the dissolution of a marriage and ruined innocent children’s lives.
My parents had their flaws. If they had saved and been successful, money wouldn’t have been an issue. When they died, I thought there would be more money. I was disgusted to find out they had nothing. I got the proceeds from the house. It was gone in a couple of months.
George can’t help me to my room. It will draw unwanted attention to us. He parks in the lot at the hotel and waits for me to get my bearings. He shoves four aspirin in my palm as I wobble out of the vehicle.
I pass out in bed, fully clothed, as I sniff the arm of my shirt and get a whiff of cigarette smoke. I smell like an ashtray and hard alcohol.
My dreams become nightmares as images of Levin in bed with the douche at the bar appear in my head. Her face is intermingled with the blonde waitresses, both oohing and aahing over his sic body.
I vaguely remember punching my pillow in exasperation when I wake up.
Then I black out. The night’s decisions reflected in its consequences.
Chapter Nineteen
Levin
On my second day at the resort, a vehicle follows me out of the parking lot. I check my rearview mirror, my heart speeding up as the adrenaline rushes through my body. I try to ignore the pounding in my chest, and I grip the steering wheel.
I would know that cocky grin and that jet-black hair anywhere. It wasn’t Alec, though. As I peer in my side mirror, I see a shock of salt and pepper hair, mostly salt, and tan, wrinkled skin. I need to call Maddy to talk me off a ledge as I can barely breathe, the rising panic starting to overwhelm me. I need to pull over.
The man’s starting to slow behind me inching his way to a crawl. I flash my lights indicating he should go around me. He doesn’t. At this pace, a turtle could pass both my car and his. I turn my four-way flashers on and pull over on the shoulder. This area is populated and in the middle of the city, so I don’t feel vulnerable. I need to get a handle on my emotions. I put my head on the steering wheel and rest it there for a minute, the cool plastic soothing my forehead.
I hear a knock on my driver-side window. The man from the car behind me stands there, all five-feet-eight inches of him, and his round belly is covered in a western plaid print as his hands hook on his oversized belt buckle. I wait, half expecting to see his lasso pop up at any minute.
He motions for me to roll down my window. The last thing I want to do is open myself up to strangers. I pause. I decide to let him know I am okay, but only through the window. I turn the vehicle back on and press the window button. I only put it down an inch.
The man is chewing tobacco. I can see the way his mouth rolls it around and tucks it in his bottom lip.
“Are you all right, miss?” His voice is gruff but kind.
“Yes. I... I just needed some air.” I take a deep breath. “I was having a panic attack.”
He nods, eyes squinting. “Do you know your way around here?”
“You mean, am I a local?” I pause. “I’m just visiting relatives.”
“I noticed you came from the resort. That’s where I’m staying.” He pokes his cowboy boot in the dirt. “Just thought I’d ask if you needed a ride back. Or an escort.” His voice didn’t match his clothing. It sounded rough, but there was no twang.
“No, I’m meeting some friends,” I lie. “Thank you for stopping.”
I roll my window up to give him the hint I am done talking, but he stares at me for a second too long.
It gives me the creeps. Goosebumps pop up on my skin, a sign that my body is in sync with my mind.
Then he turns and limps back to his car, a slight hitch in his gait.
He doesn’t move, and I wait for what seems like an eternity. I don’t want him behind me. The lights go on, and he pulls back onto the road.
I wait a minute. Then I follow suit.
Something about him is familiar. I can’t put my finger on it, though.
The Cadillac turns left, and I turn right. Phew.
I drive until I hit a CVS Pharmacy and exit my vehicle. My sunglasses are on hiding the paranoia and redness from crying in the car.
Inside, I buy a water, a magazine, and minutes for my phone. I want to call Maddy.
When I leave the store, I notice the Caddy driving around the back entrance of the CVS. It is too far away to make out the driver, but I notice it is him. Arizona doesn’t require front license plates, but his vehicle has Tennessee plates.
I tell myself this is a coincidence. Of course, it is. No one knows me here. He’s an older man, senile.
He’s not, though.
The two choices I have are to wait for him to notice me leaving the drugstore and follow me, or play a game of cat and mouse. I choose the latter.
I have about five seconds before he comes around the building again. I run to the car and hide in the backseat. I lay across the leather seats and hope he doesn’t stop near my vehicle. There are cars on both sides of me so he can’t park next to me.
My cell phone is next to me on the seat. I call Maddy. It rings and goes to voicemail. “Maddy, someone is following me,” I say. “I’m at the CVS drug store off Scottsdale Road and um, Lincoln, I think. Will try you again later.”
I start to inch up the glass giving me a reflection on all sides. He is making his way around the building again. I climb into the driver’s seat from the back and wait, ducked down, for him to drive by again. I hear a commotion next to me and see a couple getting into the two-seater Lexus beside me. I am out of time. He will park beside me and will kill me. I wonder if Alec is here. I only saw one man in the car. Maybe Alec is waiting for me elsewhere.
My lunch is starting to rise in my throat, the bile making its way to the air. I am trying not to gag as I start the engine and back up. I gun it as soon as I am in a position to do so and tear off through the parking lot.
The silver Cadillac is coming around the corner. I manage to squeal out into traffic. He tries to pursue me but almost runs into a speeding pick-up truck.
I breathe a sigh of relief. With steady traffic, I can lose him.
The rental is my only safety net. There’s no paper trail of me renting it, and it’s not in my name. I need to ditch this car. There’s an Enterprise down the street from the condo, and I head there. Checking my mirrors, I find no sign of a silver car, so I park the vehicle in the back of the Enterprise dealership out of sight from the main road.
“Hi,” I say when I get up to the counter. “I need to switch cars. This one is making a funny noise.”
“Really?” The clerk says, fingers tapping his computer keyboard. “Of course. Mid-size work?”
“Sure.” I trade him my keys and get a black Hyundai Sonata. I use the credit card Maddy gave me along with her old ID that resembles me if you squint hard enough. He makes copies of both, and I show him my insurance card, a copy of Maddy’s.
I check again to make sure there’s no sign of Alec or the old man.
I'm safe.
For now.
The vacation condo is a few blocks away, and I pull into the parking lot, enter the gate code, and watch as the gates click shut behind me. They are a false sense of security. I know this. Something about them makes me feel safe, though, like a moat at a castle would. There’s a detached garage, and I park inside carefully paying attention to my surroundings.
My heart is threatening to beat outside of my chest. I sit behind the steering wheel and focus on bre
athing short, shallow breaths to the count of ten.
If I go to the cops, will they believe me?
Liz wanted me to run, so I did.
Eric told me his truth, so I believe it.
The proof is the problem. I am scared of whom I can trust. Maddy wanted to go to the cops, and I had a meltdown. What if she ended up dead? Her kids now orphans because of my suspicions? Her husband left alone because of my actions.
Alec seems to infiltrate aspects of my life that he shouldn’t. He knows intimate details that he shouldn’t. Someone helps him. That much I know.
That man in the Caddy is familiar. I have seen him in San Diego. I’m flustered and can’t put my finger on it now.
I pull out the card in my wallet. It is Janice Hendricks’ Avon Consultant card. I dial and wait for it to ring. I am scared to leave the dark garage, for once, the blackness is a safety net. There are no windows in the space, and for all I know, the man could be outside, stalking his prey—in this case—me.
A voice answers. It is chipper.
“This is Janice with Avon.”
“Janice,” I stammer, “this is Levin. Levin Crowdley. I got your card from Liz.”
There is a pause. I think the phone is disconnected.
“I thought you would never call.” The voice is in shock on the other end.
I’m confused. “Was I not supposed to?”
“No, no, no, no.” Janice is breathing hard. “Do you know who I am?”
“Liz’s friend? Someone I can call to get in touch with Liz?” I lean my head against the glass on the driver’s side.
“No, I mean, yes, I am Liz’s friend,” Janice says. “I know Liz because of Heidi.”
There is silence for a moment. It is deafening.
“Levin, I used to be Heidi’s roommate. I’m the one who found her.” Janice continues, the words slamming into one another like a tsunami. “I found her dead.”
I instantaneously feel the air go out of my lungs. I can’t breathe. A panic attack overtakes me. I gasp for air, throw open the car door and heave myself on the concrete floor, my phone still grasped tight in my hand.
Because You're Mine_Psychological Thriller Page 8
