“The snowstorm is here, Jason. Take care.”
Jason nodded and unlocked the door, unsure about going on. The storm had arrived. The wind blew strong and the booms coming from the skies proved that was going to be one of the severe storms. The temperature had already dropped a few many degrees and it all indicated that would be a long day, followed by a long night, immersed in a white expanse of insane wilderness.
Without a word or answer, mostly because he didn’t know what to say, Jason jumped out of the truck and slammed shut the door. The sheriff didn’t take long and hit the reverse gear as soon as Jason dropped out, almost taking him back to the city along. Jason waited the car to disappear in the white vastness that spread all around and, as the fog started to thicken and spread and cover his surrounding, violently attacked by the wind, Jason started his track to his home.
It was all at peace.
He was almost reaching the front door, dragging himself and struggling against the wind resistance, the cold, when he heard a thunderous roar and flapping sound, followed by a loud rustle sound that at first scared him, until he realized it was the dark tarp he had placed to protect the hole in the kitchen door. As a dark veil of silk loose on air, the tarp floated and spun, being carried and punched and tossed by the wind, also soon disappearing into the blinding pale clouded land.
A dark veil. Just like the one from the widow. Jason shrank and let the thought aside, a mystery that had stuck to him ever since his wife’s death and that also seemed to have no answer. When he lifted his head again, about to step on the porch, he saw her.
Michelle. She was there, but she wasn’t at the same time, it was a pale and fogged version, the wild hair frozen still, caring too little if the wind was reaching some twenty miles per hour.
There she was. So close and yet so distant.
Jason didn’t want to touch her, but he wanted. His mind wanted to believe it was all a simple illusion, another hallucination, but his eyes were connected to his heart and they wanted to believe she could be real. Maybe she wasn’t even dead after all, maybe she was causing it all. Perhaps she was the only real thing in the whole vastness of doubts.
Jason took a few steps towards him, who walked further back and smiled.
And that light smile became a wide-open, shining smile, a beam of sunlight amidst a storm.
She wasn’t there to haunt him. She was there to say goodbye.
Michelle didn’t speak, didn’t whisper, didn’t call his name.
And as soon as Jason decided to move forward and once more shove himself inside home, where he would be welcome with warmth and comfort, Michelle vanished in the air, being carried by the wind along with the fog and all the debris dragged by the wind.
Goodbye, he sent to her, finally closing that cycle when he unlocked the door and threw himself into the fancy cabin.
* * *
She rubbed her hands under the warm tap water, cleansing her fingers from the last remains of soap. She shut the tap and shook both her hands, trying to get rid of the excess water before drying them for good with the dishcloth that lay in her shoulder.
The bandages on her wrists itched and she wanted to remove them, but she wasn’t ready yet to face those scars. Maybe it wouldn’t even leave so ugly and defined scars, according to what Jason had said, but she didn’t want to face the wounds, not now. Clarice noticed a small bloodstain on the gauze and tried to use some water to remove it, unsuccessfully. Alright, that was just a consequence.
The teapot was warming up on the stove, a small hiss was already being heard and to spread around the house, also spreading the wonderful infusion smell. Just some herbs were boiling, the rest she would add later in the end, to give it a special touch and calm herself down. After Jason’s crisis and the drinking, it all had changed and she needed some time to breathe.
From the kitchen window, she noticed the weather had changed. The skies were loaded, dark, and it was no longer possible to admire the trees or the mountains or the lake, at distance. It was all covered by an opaque layer of white, while snow fell with determination and without control. She was tired.
And she heard the sound of keys against the lock from the front door. Although the day had lost the sunlight long ago, she had kept the house in the half-light, partially due to the hangover that still affected her. He had arrived and she had been waiting.
Clarice turned to the sink and put herself to dry two mugs, calmly placing them onto the dry and clean marble nearby. It was all in its place. When she finished drying the second mug, she heard the wood screak at a safe distance, proving Jason had arrived.
“Are you okay?” He asked, standing by the door.
Clarice turned in a bolt, causing her red and now clean hair to be thrown into air with the movement. She smiled. She had been waiting for him.
“As far as possible.”
Jason, though, seemed cautious, distant. That was not a moment for him to play hard and cold, she wanted him there, present, warm, the same way he had come to her at dawn, when they shared a bottle of scotch.
“Has Marco arrived?”
Clarice frowned, shaking her head, confused.
“I thought he had come with you. He must be resting.”
“I…”
Whatever Jason was about to say was interrupted and shut by the shout of the teapot, which even got Clarice unprepared. She smiled, bothered by the interruption and moved to the stove, putting the flame out and removing the teapot from it.
“Apparently, the storm is coming,” she commented upon, her back turned to Jason, who she heard walk towards the counter. “I decided to brew some tea to warm us up and prepare us for the night.”
“It’s all I need.”
Jason was amazed at how dependent to that tea he had become. He couldn’t say if it were the ingredients or the way Clarice prepared it, he only knew he had created a huge appreciation to it, as huge as the appreciation he had towards her. He watched her, who kept her backs to him, while she served the two mugs with the smoking liquid.
The scent was incredibly relaxing. He could already feel the texture of it in his mouth, which was already humid by the thought.
“Was it all fine at the hospital?” She asked, still not facing him, while adding the other magical herbs to the ready infusion. Cinnamon. She couldn’t forget the cinnamon.
“Yes. I ended up arguing with the sheriff. For some reason, he decided to do a full exam and got stuck on the idea I’m drugging myself.”
Something shook in Jason’s head, something that wanted to come out, just like a word that’s on the tip of your tongue when you cannot quite remember it.
“Well, maybe you are.”
He laughed at ironic tone of her comment and felt the comfort that came as he heard the metallic sound of the spoon moving inside the mug. Clarice added two cubes of sugar and kept on stirring it, and then she hit the spoon three times against the mug border and tossed it inside the sink. With her usual delicacy, she grabbed the mug and delivered it to Jason, showing him a smile he hadn’t expected to see so soon.
Perhaps the kiss had had and unexpected effect, though he had freaked out afterwards.
Jason thanked her with a nod and started to blow his tea, while Clarice turned to finish her own serving. He observed the infusion in his mug, the ember tone and the slightly thick texture, with the tiny flakes of cinnamon floating atop, along those other remains of leaves he wouldn’t know to identify. It was amazing, an unknown flavor that tasted unique and, at the same time, perfect. Surprisingly good, just like Clarice.
He took the first sip, a long and deep gulp to warm his inner body after such long exposition to the cold out there. The house was warm, however existing a certain freezing aura around himself that started to disappear as soon as the liquid invaded his lips.
Jason still held his mug in hands when he noticed Clarice stirring her own tea. Opposite to his, she added only one cube of sugar, but kept on stirring it the same way. Finally, when she seeme
d to have noticed it was already good enough, she lifted the spoon and took it to her mouth, licking it and tasting the tea at the same time.
In that moment, Jason felt his face go cold and warm again. He felt his hands tighten around the mug to conceal the trembling that hit him at the moment.
She licked the spoon from her own tea and then she tossed it to the sink.
They were two spoons. Two teas.
One tossed away, disregarded. Another one who served as a flavor test.
She hadn’t done the same to his spoon.
Jason stared at the tea again and inhaled, observing the thick texture and the small floating leaves. What taste was that?
Martha’s porcelain on the ground.
They had had tea together.
The grocery crisis.
Michelle’s apparitions.
The disturbed sleep.
Jason prepared himself to face Clarice again when she turned once more, her hair falling behind her shoulders and only then did he realize she was wearing black. A black tight long-sleeved shirt, as well as a pair of paints also tight and of the same color.
Only then did he realize that Clarice was not as strange to him as he'd first believed.
Only then he did notice he knew the woman with the widow’s hat.
When his memory shone the image of the woman in the black hat in his wife’s room again, he saw her face, Clarice’s face, partially hidden by the veil, but he saw her emerald sparkling eyes and the pale skin underneath it all, in a face framed by lively red hair.
The realization of it was too much to process. The mug slipped through his fingers and went straight to the floor, just like it had happened before, the same way it probably had happened to Martha.
Jason’s only thought, in that moment, was that the snowstorm had arrived and he had nowhere to run.
From across her body, through the window, he could see the storm advance and curve the trees in its way, dragging it all while curtains of snow spread everywhere. He noticed his shock by seeing Clarice’s eyes, always so peaceful and serene, turn aggressive, outlined, feral. Her lips slowly curved into a smile when she lifted her own mug and took a long sip from the brew. She had turned.
There was a stranger in his house.
There was a stranger, again, in his house.
VI
The wait had become longer than he had imagined. Paul was a long-time friend, the expert from the department’s forensic analysis lab, someone Anthon trusted well enough, mainly because they were great in sharing stupid talks after working hours, besides sharing a little too many beers. Paul had become a great friend in only a few years of working together, someone who had started his career along with him and that, at times, put Anthon’s cases ahead on the waiting list for analysis just for the cordiality.
When Anthon arrived at the lab and requested Paul to get a blood sample from him and to run it for a full toxicology exam, Paul didn’t completely understand the reason, but didn’t ask about it, either. He just took the request in and did everything as the procedure required. He collected the blood, three samples, and separated them properly, keeping them in a distinct tray.
When Anthon arrived at the lab, it was still the middle of the afternoon. Now, according to the window, he could see the sun already saying his goodbye.
Anthon’s phone rang again, once more, when Paul returned with what seemed to be the results. It was Monica, but he ignored the call when he saw Paul shaking his head negatively.
“They weren’t completely conclusive, and I’d rather do a second one, more specifically focused, but it would take us at least one more hour.”
“Something in particular you’d like to share?”
Paul shrugged, insecure.
“Dude, I cannot say without being sure first. What are the symptoms?”
“Hm, nausea, dizziness, shaking, tachycardia sometimes… I’ve had two seizures, already. They told me it was stress-related.”
“A possibility, yes. But why a full tox screen?”
“Just to be clear with it.”
And Paul disappeared again, splitting himself into his many tasks, the blood tests, the interns and the other police officers who would appear every now and then to ask him something random and then disappear, offering Anthon a simple greeting to be cool.
Anthon, in turn, was still thinking about it all. In Monica, Georgia, their divergences. That alone moment, waiting in a lab, seemed to be a perfect opportunity to balance and analyze all that had happened with him so far. The wrongs, the rights, the crises. He thought about the sheriff’s words.
And what if it was poisoning or intoxication? If he had been drugged, what was that for? He wasn’t investigating any special case, no high-profile ones as his colleagues would say. He wasn’t involved with mob crimes or serial killers willing to poison him little by little, however stupid that idea was. How could someone poison him for so long when he was not even at home?
It was not poisoning. Maybe a small disturbance, possibly enough stress and exhaustion-bound, maybe alcohol, things he already knew.
Waiting was not his strongest suit, but he had to solve that mystery before venturing himself to deal with Monica and Georgia, his life at the precinct and the whole rest.
He thought about the last time he had used any kind of drugs – and it had been marijuana, while vacationing with friends –, but it had already been a while since then and he didn’t even remember the feeling of it. He thought about the last time he had drunk and feared that could affect the results. If there actually were results to be delivered.
“Anthon?”
Again, his phone rang and he thought on how Monica had a terrible timing for calls. He saw it was just a text message, but he didn’t read, not even the preview that came up on his screen.
He shoved the phone on the pocket of his pants and stood up, following Paul, who showed him and adjacent room.
“Anything serious?”
Paul smiled, taking it all non-seriously.
“I’m not an oncologist, Ton.”
Paul sat down, holding the results in hands, offering a seat for Anthon, too.
“But it doesn’t sound a good announcement, either.”
“Nope, because depending on your answer, I’ll be forced to report what I’ve found in here.”
Anthon felt an unexplained bother move in his body in the shape of an anxious shiver. He hadn’t felt like that in years.
“Paul, there are no reasons for reports, all reasons aside because I believed it to be…”
“Something between friends, I know.” Paul’s round face, hidden behind the thick beard, didn’t look happy. He seemed a lot worried, actually. “But the results processed here and you know that sooner or later…”
“Someone will know about it. I can already tell you that there’s nothing wrong, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“But you’re using recreational drugs.”
“I… what?” Anthon was completely lost. Despite the confused and fogged memories, he didn’t recall any drug considered ‘recreational’. Whiskey was merely a distilled beverage. “Paul…” He laughed. “I don’t follow.”
“Okay. I ran the exam and the results were a little whack, so I dug deeper and, being totally honest, hadn’t it been focused on something, I would’ve never found it.”
In his mind, Anthon scratched the possibilities out. He knew those exams looked for the common markers: alcohol, amphetamines, barbiturates, cocaine and drugs commonly found on streets, including THC. Aside from that and the painkillers he sometimes took, he couldn’t recall anything else that could demand further analysis.
“Atropa belladonna.” Paul announced, which increased Anthon’s dizziness.
“Belladonna? Are you serious?”
The skepticism in Anthon’s voice seemed to hurt Paul’s ego.
“Some college fellas used to take it sometimes. I’ve tried it myself once and, although there are some rad effects, the side ones are wor
se if not well-administered.”
“And you’re telling me I’m ingesting deadly nightshade without even knowing?”
“If you’re saying it, I’m buying it.”
“Paul, there’s not a fucking slight chance. I don’t even have the access.”
“Could be accidental, Anthon. In my, I mean, our experience, you know how it could happen.”
“No, Paul, I don’t. My life is too fucked up to worry about what I eat now. The only thing I’ve been doing is drinking, sometimes a little more than I should…”
“Yeah, it came up on the reports too.”
“But, besides that… I don’t know.”
“Well,” Paul delivered him the results and Anthon got amazed by noticing the man had even highlighted the pointers and the quantities of each substance. “Is the alcohol origin trustworthy? Could by an option. Did you know that bees that produce honey in contact with belladonna also produce honey with alkaloids? It’s dope that…”
“Is this the amount? Seriously?”
It was astoundingly exorbitant.
“Yes, I also got a little scared myself. But if, for example, the ingestion was through a distilled version of the plant, it’s possible it was absorbed way faster and then metabolized. You know, the lining of your…”
“Paul, I need silence.”
Paul took the order, tightening his lips in that round face he had behind the rectangular-shaped glasses, while Anthon read and reread the results, digesting the information. He gathered all he had in there with all the sheriff had told him and with all things Paul had just said.
Belladonna…
… poisoning…
… distilled…
… alcohol…
Anthon’s head spun around again and, when he raised his eyes, he wasn’t facing Paul anymore. No, his eyes were lost on the white wall, wandering between perceptions and faded memories, between doubts and obvious possibilities tossed at his face.
He had drunk a few times. By the way, the first seizure had been at Mike’s bar, but… no. He had drunk before, at the office. And before meeting Monica. And during the trip, also after it. He had lost notion of time at some moments and felt the vertigos, numbness, also the convulsions. And all of those times there was only one common factor his analytical mind could process.
The Woman Hidden Page 32
