Max rushed to the kitchen, to his laptop on the table. His life—inside of the cold machine. Not letters or paragraphs, but a soul and a beating heart. Angelica was being born out of his mind like Aphrodite from the sea foam, and if he didn’t see her yet, it was only physics. He felt her and that was enough.
He returned to the first page. To the field of daisies and the lake. To the garland spilling from a child’s awkward hands.
“I can’t do it like you, Mommy.”
“You will when you grow up.”
“What if I won’t?”
“You’re my silly girl. You have no choice.”
Max raised his eyes to the ceiling, reflecting over the phrases he read. Her mother didn’t feel it. She laughed, the way people laughed at small children who said something funny or too smart for their age. She laughed. The girl might have felt something bad coming. Did she feel it?
“Max?”
“Small children are more sensitive than adults. She could …”
“Max!”
He flinched and looked at his wife, who stood at the door in her white, plush robe with her hair down and her eyes sparkling strangely.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as if it wasn’t clear already.
“She knew,” Max said. “She felt that she wouldn’t live long and would die before her time. Can you imagine that? When she grew up, her sixth sense was gone and she just lived and didn’t worry about the future. If she had remembered, she would never follow him. Or, maybe she would have gone anyway. She felt, but didn’t want to trust her feelings about it. She felt that it was her destiny and she couldn’t get around it. She had to go through it. Why did she have that fate? Who writes people’s fates and chooses who, when, and how? They probably have fun, making up twisted stories. Showing off in front of each other. One sweep of a pen and one human life is over. What is a human for them? One more—one less. One died, another one is born—there’s always enough work. Writers of fate are always hired. She knew she couldn’t change anything. She knew.”
“Max.”
The fog cleared. His wife was in the same spot, staring at him. Her lower lip trembled as if she might cry. Why? Why would she cry? What happened to her and what did she go through?
“Maybe … Maybe I can make you breakfast?” she asked and let out a sob.
Breakfast?
“Breakfast,” Max mumbled thoughtfully and moved his eyes to the page. “I’ll find the answer, I will. If she won’t remember.”
Somebody cried or screamed, but it didn’t matter. The answer was near. He just needed to dig deeper and read between the lines.
CHAPTER 42
Anna couldn’t wait to talk to her mom. She left the house early, and after turning the engine and the heater on, she dialed her parents’ number. Her mother didn’t answer right away, but when she did, she immediately demanded Anna tell her what had happened.
“Mom, I can’t do it anymore.” Anna started to cry, although she had planned to hold it and not show weakness in the form of tears.
“Anna, you said you’d be patient. You said he needs help.”
“He doesn’t need anything, Mom. Or anyone. He’s losing it. I wish you could see him. He doesn’t shave, doesn’t take a shower. This morning, he plopped at that computer in only underwear and started to type like crazy, talking to himself. You should have seen his eyes. He looked at me and didn’t see me. He doesn’t leave the house. I don’t think he eats. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He has bags under his eyes; his cheeks are sunken. He looks like a skeleton.”
“Sweetheart, he needs help.”
“Mom, I don’t know what to do! I can’t take him to an institution or anything.”
“No, not there. Maybe in a worst-case scenario. Like if he started to attack people. What do you think? Could he?”
“Mom, I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” Anna watched a young couple walking along the road with their hands locked. Young, happy, like she and Max used to be a few days ago. Everything ended so fast, as if she sank into a dream and couldn’t wake.
“You are not in danger with him, are you?”
“I don’t think so. No, I don’t think he’s dangerous. Everything is going on inside his head. It’s like I’m living with a stranger. I don’t know the man that I share my bed with.”
“Anna, you … well … sex …”
“Mom!”
“Sorry for asking, sweetheart.”
“He’s not interested in me. I don’t exist.”
An older man with a heavy bag passed her. A woman with a small girl followed him. Everyone was wearing jackets, coats, hiding their heads from the morning cold, but she was hot. Anna pulled her scarf down and turned off the heater.
“Anna, I know I shouldn’t ask, but could he be seeing someone?”
Anna shook her head, and closed her eyes. “I thought about it, Mom. No. Something different is going on.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Do you want to move out?”
“Run away?”
“I mean for a short time. Just to take a break. Maybe he’ll see you’re gone and come back to his senses.”
“I’m afraid to leave him alone. I love him.”
“I understand. Maybe three days? A weekend?”
“Maybe you’re right. He doesn’t need me now, and I don’t think he’ll harm himself. Unless he forgets to turn off the stove.”
“Ask your neighbors to keep an eye on him. You told me there’s one old lady who’s friendly.”
“She’s not really old, but friendly. You’re right. I’ll come for a weekend. I’ll keep checking on him, call him, maybe he’ll even answer.”
“Oh, that’s great!” her mother gasped. “Nick! Anna’s coming for the weekend!”
“She owes me a chess match!” her father’s muffled yell came.
Anna smiled. How great it was to have parents like these. So sad that Max didn’t have anyone to support him besides her. She felt horrible leaving him alone, even for a couple of days, but she decided that he could take care of himself. All the years of their marriage, Max was always her main concern. She always thought about his interests first. He probably didn’t even notice and took it for granted. She gave up a lot, sacrificed a lot to make the most comfortable conditions for his work. For his creativity. She didn’t want him to think about food or dirty socks. She wanted him to feel important and loved. Suddenly, he didn’t need her anymore.
“I’ll come on Friday night, Mom.” Anna wiped her tears. Tears of resentment didn’t agree with the voice of reason telling her that the situation wasn’t personal. A creative mind had pushed her husband off track.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m driving to work. I don’t know if I can work. Maybe I’ll take a day off. Not today, but tomorrow.”
Anna said goodbye to her mother, dropped the phone into her bag, and let her tears flow. She bent down, so people passing her car wouldn’t see her face, and cried until she started to choke. When the tears were gone, she sat motionless for some time, pressing her forehead to the cold wheel, and then she straightened up and looked in the mirror. Smeared makeup, red eyes. Where would she go like this? She didn’t want to return home. She didn’t want to see her friends. She didn’t want to talk about Max and his madness or whatever had been happening to him.
She pulled a pack of tissue out of her bag and cleaned the mascara off as well as she could. Then she took out her makeup bag and fixed her makeup. During her drive to work, the redness would go away, as well as the swelling from her nose. Some people were lucky; tears made them look pitiful in a good way. She looked like a victim of a wasp’s attack. Anna smiled at this thought and turned the radio to a rock music station before driving onto the road.
CHAPTER 43
The boss gave Anna a day off with no questions asked. Katy, of course, had to start another intimate conversation during their lunch break, but Anna said politely that she didn’t want to discuss it. She
didn’t want to discuss anything. To her surprise, it offended Katy and she didn’t talk to Anna the rest of the day. Only, Anna had too many thoughts in her head to let it bother her. Her coworker’s feelings about her answer happened to be of no concern to her.
When Anna returned home, she found Max in the living room instead of the kitchen. He sat on the floor, pressing his back against the couch with the laptop on his knees. He wore a tank top and shorts, but his face was unshaven and the room reeked from his sweat. Max didn’t notice her come in. He was scrolling down the pages of the book, but not typing. She wanted to ask if he had eaten, but thought better of it.
She went to the bedroom, pulled her suitcase out of the walk-in closet, and started to pack her things. Not too much, she was only going to stay the weekend. She wanted to wait until morning, but now didn’t see the point. Why? Spend another night of being invisible? Wake up in the middle of the night from his scream? Listen to his accusations of her indifference?
Throwing her underwear, a pair of jeans, and two sweaters into the suitcase, Anna slammed it shut and went to the kitchen. Ignored by her husband again. She was hungry, despite her frustration. Actually, she wanted to eat more because of it. She took a few sips of orange juice right from the carton, thinking about dinner with her parents. She couldn’t eat here, in spite of her hunger. She returned to the bedroom, grabbed the suitcase, and headed to the exit, pausing in the living room in front of her husband.
“Max.”
He raised his bloodshot eyes to her. He looked horrible and Anna felt bad for leaving him.
“How are you?” she asked.
He looked at the computer as if fearing to lose something important and glanced at her again.
“How am I? Fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You need to get some rest, Max. Turn off the computer, take a shower, have dinner, go to bed early. Honey, you need rest.”
“Did you want something else? I’m busy.” A nod at the computer.
Anna swallowed. She wanted to cry, to scream at her husband for abandoning her, to call him crazy. She stopped.
“I’m going to my parents’ for the weekend.”
Max frowned, slowly moved his eyes to the suitcase then back to his wife.
“What day’s today?”
“Thursday.”
“You are coming back on Monday?”
Anna lost her ability to talk for a moment. “I thought I would do that, yes,” she said after a pause.
“Good. Say hi to your mom and dad.” He gave her a half smile before his attention went back to the computer.
Anna couldn’t move. She wasn’t surprised, but then again, she had expected something different. She expected him to stop her, tell her that he couldn’t be without her, ask her to forgive him, admit to not giving her enough attention and getting too involved with his book. She expected him to hug her, to take her to dinner. None of that happened. It seemed that not only was he not upset about her impending absence, but was actually happy about it. It was convenient for him. No one would fuss at him, ask silly questions, or interrupt his presence in an imaginary world.
“Bye, Max,” she said. Her husband didn’t answer and didn’t even look at her.
Anna dashed to the door, threw her jacket on, stuck her feet into her boots, and ran out of the apartment. On her way to the car, she didn’t hold her tears and didn’t pay attention to people, turning to gaze at her. Tears clouded her vision, and she brushed them off with her cold hand. How quickly everything had changed. How imperceptibly their perfect life, which was only lacking a child, had turned to ruins. Just a photo in the paper, a strange dream, a new idea for a book, and that was it. Their lives turned to ruins. Could they rebuild it? Restore it? She didn’t know and didn’t want to know at the moment. Her heart was hurting. She feared they had lost everything. She felt a sudden loneliness. She wanted to lock herself in a room, hide under a blanket, and stay like that until everything changed. It had to change! After he finished his book, everything would come back.
Anna didn’t know that and didn’t want to assume. Getting into the car, she turned the music as loud as her eardrums could handle and drove away from her home. Away from her husband.
The phone rang and Anna, keeping one hand on the wheel, fished the phone out of her bag. It should be Max. He came to his senses and called her to ask her back, talk to her, and explain what really happened.
“Hello.”
“Anna, hi! It’s Foxtail. How are you?”
Anna would close her eyes if she wasn’t driving, but could only grit her teeth. “What’s happened, Ian?” She knew Max’s agent well, talking to him many times at parties, exchanging e-mails, discussing her husband’s books. She wasn’t too interested in it, but she accepted this part of his work so he could concentrate on his books and not think about the commercial side of the business.
“Nothing bad. I wanted to ask if something is going on. I keep calling Max, but he’s not answering.”
“Yes, that.” Anna paused, trying to get into the traffic without an accident.
“Anna? Are you there?”
“I’m driving. Max …” She fought the desire to tell Ian everything, but it could harm Max’s career and she didn’t want that. Agents and publishers shouldn’t know about problems and should only wait for new manuscripts in their mailbox. The next manuscript, though, wouldn’t appear in their mailbox anytime soon, because what he had written wouldn’t go anywhere. Anna was sure of it. “Max is working. He’s completely drawn in to his new book. He thinks it’s his best book ever.”
“Have you read it? Some of it?”
“Just the few first pages. You know how he is.”
“Yes, yes, sure. Is it commercial? I hope Maximilian hasn’t decided to go literature.”
Of course. What else could interest him? Only his profit. Why should this time be any different? Business was business. Pure business with a shade of creativity for beauty. Like a layer of fake gold of top of chocolate.
“Commercial.”
“And supernatural? Did he change his mind?”
“Supernatural is there.”
“Damn. People love his mysteries, but I have to believe they will want anything by Stevenson. He can’t write something bad, right? I called him to see if his first draft was ready. I need to pitch it to the publisher. Also his book tour?”
“Forget about him for now, he’s not even here. He’ll call you when he’s ready.”
“No, I understand, sure. I was starting to worry when he didn’t call back. We have a bunch of queries from magazines and TV channels.”
“Sorry, I was busy too. I don’t think he’s up for interviews now.”
“I get it. All righty then, Anna. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
If what? Anna wanted to ask.
“Bye.”
She turned off the phone. What a useless conversation with his agent. She had saved her husband’s butt, but at least Foxtail has distracted her from her self-pity. She probably could reach her parents’ house without tears or accidents.
CHAPTER 44
Everything went great yesterday. Redhead came home only ten minutes earlier than usual. Her car passed his on the way to the garage. He saw her entering the lobby. Her hair glowed with different shades of red and bronze under the artificial light. He got so aroused that he jerked off in the car, with an old towel over his lap.
Today she was going to be his.
His hands shook, and his throat was dry from impatience. He had already finished the whole bottle of water and regretted not bringing more. He could run to the store that was a minute away, but he didn’t want to miss her. He arrived at her building an hour early, but it still wasn’t worth the risk. It was Friday. Maybe today she would leave ten or twenty minutes early. He wouldn’t stay longer than an hour. He waited by the garage, in the shadows, but still, someone could notice him and ask questions. It was still the best area for him. He parked his van away from the camera, but
where he was still close. The van was by a small island of trees right next to the garage entrance. The camera couldn’t catch him either.
Morris sat in his van, clenching his fists inside the pockets of his jacket. Usually, he whistled, but couldn’t now. He couldn’t relax, no matter how hard he tried. His favorite song was Daisies. His father whistled it every day. He said it was a kids’ song.
Oh, a beautiful field of daisies;
The most cheerful wildflowers you’ll see;
Dolly and I love the daisies;
They seem to be smiling at me.
Dolly picks up a daisy;
Holding it up to the sky;
She tosses it into the river;
Look, Daddy, your daisy floats by.
She picks up another daisy;
And watches as she tosses it down;
Oh, Daddy, my daisy has disappeared.
My beautiful daisy has drowned.
Morris listened to the song with his mouth open, drinking in every word, and then he wrote it down quickly, so he could remember. He had never heard anything sadder.
Time went by. Morris checked his watch. Five minutes before her regular return time. He left the car, wrapped his jacket tighter, hiding from the frosty evening air. He would walk into the road when her car appeared, and she would stop, recognizing him. He would say that he didn’t know she lived here. He had brought a painting for a client. He would ask if she knew that person because he had lost his phone number. Then, he would say he forgot the name and go to the van to find it. He would open the door, let the papers fly, and then try to catch them. She would leave her car to help him and he would take out his syringe. He hadn’t used chloroform in a long time. Thanks to his friend, a veterinarian, he had something much more convenient. Morris had to lie about a horse he had gotten, but his “friend” would never know. The injection was powerful. It knocked out a person almost immediately for about three hours. He would throw her into the van and stop somewhere on his way home to tie her arms and legs, so she wouldn’t run away if she woke up too early.
The land of dead flowers: (A serial killer thriller) Page 21
