Don't Turn Around

by Hunter Morgan

  Light shone through the curtains in the living room, but that didn’t mean Charlie was there. He always left the lights on. Said he wasn’t paying Delmarva Power. He didn’t seem to care that Angel was.

  She walked cautiously up the sidewalk. It was cold out and she hadn’t worn her coat. Just the sweater Shonda had given her for Christmas. Angel loved the sweater; it was her favorite piece of clothing. It was a white turtleneck with embroidered white snowflakes on it. Brand new when she got it, still had the tags on. It was the only present she’d gotten for Christmas.

  At the front door, Angel stopped and listened. She could hear the TV next door. She also thought she heard the TV on at her own place. No surprise there, either. Charlie was always walking out the door leaving it on.

  She rested her hand on the doorknob. Turned it gingerly. It was unlocked.

  Crap. Was Charlie home? Had the truck broken down again already? James hardly in his grave and his truck had already crapped out. It was sad, kind of, when she thought about it.

  Angel chewed on the inside of her lip. She thought about knocking next door, ask them if they’d seen Charlie. But she didn’t want to get them involved. All she wanted to do was go inside, get Buddy’s toy box, and get out.

  She stood there another minute, but it was so cold that she couldn’t stand it. She knocked on her own door and then pressed her ear to it. If she heard Charlie, she’d just run back to the car, get in, and take off.

  She didn’t hear anything. Shivering, she knocked again. Then louder. The dog next door began to bark. Still nothing from inside her own apartment.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she turned the knob on the front door and pushed the door in a little. She peeked around the corner. The TV was on, but not real loud. Cartoons. The couch was empty.

  She tiptoed in, almost tripping over a little red snow boot. She picked it up, wondering where the other one was. Buddy loved his red boots. He was always taking them out of the cardboard box by the door and putting them on. He’d need his boots if it snowed.

  “Charlie?” she called.

  No answer.

  She wondered if he was on the can.

  She glanced down the hallway. No lights on down there. Charlie always turned on the lights when he went to the bathroom. From where she stood, she could see the living room littered with take-out boxes and beer cans. Beyond the living room, she could see the empty kitchen.

  Closing the door, stuffing her keys into her jeans pocket, Angel breathed a little easier. He wasn’t home. She’d be quick. She’d grab Buddy’s toy box and be out of there. The red boot dangled from her finger.

  Maybe she should take Buddy’s boots, too. The question was, What had he done with the other one?

  She ran into a beer can with the toe of her sneaker and it rattled, startling her. Looking down, seeing the can, she felt stupid. She kicked it out of the way and walked over to the toy chest, opened it, and dropped the boot inside. Turning around, she surveyed the mess.

  It didn’t look like Charlie had done a thing since the night she’d left. The glass she had been drinking water from that night was still on the plastic milk crate she used for an end table. There was a blanket on the floor near the end of the couch. He’d been sleeping there. There was an ashtray on the arm of the couch. He was smoking again. The place stunk of cigarette smoke and sour Chinese takeout.

  She dropped onto her knees and thrust her hand under the couch. She pulled out two more beer cans, a flattened plastic baseball, a little blue sock, and an empty chip bag. No boot.

  She surveyed the living room floor, then checked the kitchen. No red boot. “What’d you do with your boot, Buddy?” she said aloud to the empty house. “Yer feet are gonna be cold in this snow, you with no boots.” Hearing her own voice calmed her a little. She was alone. She was safe.

  She checked the living room window for headlights and then went down the hall. First, she checked Buddy’s bedroom, which was closest to the bathroom. She tossed some clothes into his crib and yanked off the sheet, wrapping the clothes inside. She knew she shouldn’t take the time to gather everything, but at least she’d have a few things. She dropped the bundle in the hallway outside his door and added half a bag of diapers. She glanced over her shoulder again in the direction of the living room windows. Headlights?

  She waited. Nothing.

  Must have been her imagination.

  Angel entered her bedroom next. Someone had slept in her bed, but she wondered if it had been James. Charlie would never have slept there without her. The idea that a man who was now dead had slept in her bed creeped her out a little. Then she realized she’d slept with a man who was now dead and that really creeped her out.

  Suddenly, Angel just wanted to get out of the house.

  She dropped to her knees and poked her head under the bed. Charlie’s sneakers, a pink thong—

  She heard a sound behind her and instantly froze. Waited.

  Nothing.

  Then the sound again. No mistaking it this time.

  The front door had opened. It had closed.

  Angel’s hand trembled as she dropped the panties on the floor. Her pounding heart felt like it was in her throat. She had told Shonda she wasn’t afraid of Charlie, but she had lied.

  No…it wasn’t so much she was afraid of him as she was the pain.

  Her nose was just starting to feel better. She wasn’t getting the stitches in her head out until tomorrow afternoon.

  Now what? She couldn’t climb out the window. She had a ground-floor unit. There were bars on the windows to keep people from breaking in. The only way out of the tiny apartment was through the front door or the back door in the kitchen. To get to the kitchen, she had to go through the living room.

  Right where Charlie had to be standing.

  Angel didn’t know how long she stood there listening. Two minutes? Ten? It felt like an hour.

  He was being very quiet. She couldn’t see from where she stood in the bedroom at the end of the bed, but he had to be in the living room. He had to know she was there. Her car was in the parking lot.

  She stared at the pink thong at her feet.

  She thought about hiding in the closet, waiting until Charlie fell asleep and then sneaking out. But what if he’d just gone out for more beer? What if he was sitting on the couch right now watching SpongeBob SquarePants and getting liquored up?

  Besides, the closet wasn’t big enough for her to hide in. Not stacked with boxes the way it was. Back here in the bedroom, she was trapped. Trapped like the mouse she had cornered in the kitchen a few weeks ago with a broom. She’d beaten the mouse to death with the broom.

  The only way out was the front door.

  Angel eased her way to the bedroom door. From there, she could see the front door. She heard nothing. He hadn’t changed the channel.

  Squidward was talking about entering a parade. An underwater parade. Angel had seen the episode. It was funny. Kind of. In a been-at-work-all-day, Spongebob kind of way.

  She took a breath and slid one sneaker across the dirty blue carpet. Then the other. Slowly, soundlessly, she took one sliding step at a time down the hall.

  Despite how cold she had been a few minutes ago, her armpits were wet. There was sweat above her upper lip.

  She hated feeling this way. Hated waiting for the fist.

  Never again, she vowed silently. Never again would she let a man raise his hand to her.

  Somehow, Angel made it all the way to the end of the hall. The front door wasn’t more than five feet away. Getting up her courage, she quietly peeked around the corner at the couch.

  Charlie wasn’t there. She waited, peeked around the corner again, getting a better look this time.

  He wasn’t in the kitchen either.

  For a second, she was totally confused. She looked back down the hall, and suddenly she was so scared she thought she might pee her pants.

  The bathroom light! The bathroom light was on.

  Only five feet to th
e door. To hell with the toy chest.

  As Angel darted for the door, she heard his footsteps behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the black hoodie sweatshirt.

  She never saw his face. He had the hood up. He hit her so hard that she fell sideways and smacked into the wall, then fell to the floor. She curled into a ball, trying to protect the top of her head where the stitches were, but he grabbed a hank of her hair and yanked her head upward, exposing her throat.

  Angel opened her mouth to scream as she saw the knife, but she was silenced by fire. The blade seared her neck and suddenly she was wet and warm. He released her hair and her head dropped, bouncing on the carpet. She choked. She was covered in blood. The carpet was covered in blood, pooling under her. Her beautiful white snowflake sweater was now red with blood.

  He’d slit her throat.

  She screamed, but the only sound that came from her throat was a muffled gurgle. She was too weak to move so she just lay there.

  She thought about the toy box. About the red boots. About Buddy. What would Buddy do with no daddy and now no mommy? It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair. Tears sprang in her eyes, the pain in her heart greater than the pain from the neck wound.

  Angel tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t. It was like someone was holding her under water. Bubbles of blood came out of her mouth, the hole in her neck.

  She didn’t want to die. In a last futile effort to save herself, she lifted her fist and hit it as hard as she could against the wall. If only she could get the neighbors’ attention.

  He grabbed her foot and dragged her on her belly away from the wall. Angel watched as her body left a trail of red smears behind her. She was dizzy. She could still hear herself gurgling, gasping, but the sound in her ears was dull now.

  He left her by the toy box, and she stared at the blue front panel as she heard him walk out the door and close it behind him. Paralyzed, her head swimming, all she could do was stare at the toy box as her vision slowly faded. The last thing she saw was the flash of headlights as he pulled out of the handicapped parking spot near the front door.

  Chapter 31

  Casey was surprised to see Adam walk into her office less than ten minutes after she arrived Monday morning. He’d never come to her office before and she felt a little uncomfortable. Had Lincoln been right? Was Adam trying to cut in on him on the dance floor?

  Then she realized, by the look on his face, that something was wrong. She pressed her hands to her desk. All she could think of was her father. She’d dropped him off at the senior center only half an hour ago. But if there was something wrong with Ed, the senior center would have called her or Jayne. How would Adam know anything about it? This had to be about the case.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you by walking in on you like this. But…I wanted to tell you in person before you heard elsewhere.” He stood beside her desk and looked down. His expression was grave.

  She rose out of her chair. “Adam, what is it?”

  “Angel Carey is dead.”

  Casey covered her mouth with her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “What happened?” She was shocked, although why, she didn’t know. In her business, with the things she saw in the ER, nothing should shock her anymore. Women like Angel got themselves into bad situations all the time. Auto accidents in unsafe cars. Hitchhiking with the wrong man.

  “The police are still at the crime scene, so I don’t have all the details, but I came over the minute I heard. She was murdered, Casey. Stabbed to death in her apartment,” he said quietly.

  Casey stared at him. “She was stabbed to death?” she repeated. “In…in her apartment?”

  “I’m so sorry, Casey. I know you were trying to help her. I know you found her a shelter. I know—” Adam turned around, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “God, I feel so bad. I knew this was going to happen if we didn’t get him back behind bars.” He clenched his fist. “I knew it.” He turned back around and gestured toward her. “You knew it, too. We’ve both dealt too long with this kind of thing not to see the reality of the situation.”

  His words slowly sank in. “The police think Gaitlin did it?”

  “They know he did. They arrested him just before eleven last night. Apparently her girlfriend found her, but it was too late. Too late to save her,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “She was pronounced at the scene.”

  “They arrested him at eleven?” She was trying to wrap her brain around what he was saying. “How—when did he kill her?” It doesn’t make sense. What Adam is saying doesn’t make sense. Casey’s phone on her desk rang, loud and shrill. She could’ve just ignored it, letting the caller leave a message, but by the second ring, she couldn’t stand the sound of it any longer. She picked up the receiver.

  “Casey McDaniel,” she said into the phone, trying not to reveal in her voice any of the emotions she was feeling right now.

  “Casey, it’s Lincoln.”

  She glanced at Adam. “Lincoln.”

  “Have you heard?”

  She looked at Adam again. “About Angel Carey,” she said softly. She looked away from Adam, not sure why she felt guilty having him here in her office right now. It just felt…weird. “Yes, I heard.” She hesitated. “Adam’s here,” she said, not completely sure she should have offered that information.

  There was a pause on Lincoln’s end.

  “He…wanted to tell me in person. He knew I was involved with her case at the hospital,” she said into the phone. “He wanted me to know before…you know, before I heard it elsewhere.”

  “Before I told you?” There was no mistaking the anger in Lincoln’s voice.

  “Lincoln…” Again, she hesitated. She didn’t want to have this conversation right now, not with Adam there. Lincoln had no need to be jealous, not on her account, but this wasn’t the time to discuss it. “Can I call you right back? Or lunch maybe? Can you meet me for lunch?”

  “Call me back, Casey. I’ll see what I can do.” He hung up before she could answer.

  She set the receiver on its cradle, embarrassed that Adam had heard that conversation. Even though he couldn’t hear what Lincoln was saying, he couldn’t miss the gist of it, or the tension in her voice. But that wasn’t what mattered right now; what mattered was Angel.

  She turned to Adam, looking up at his handsome, chiseled face. “You said the police arrested Gaitlin at eleven last night? What time was she killed?”

  “Around eight-thirty, they think. The girlfriend called it in. Apparently, Angel left the girlfriend’s house around eight to get something at her apartment—where Gaitlin was still living—and when Angel didn’t come back within an hour, the girlfriend went looking for her. Gaitlin was already gone, but she told the police where to find him. Sure enough, he showed up at some bar and they arrested him.”

  Casey steadied herself by resting her hand on her desk. “What did Gaitlin say when they arrested him?”

  “What do you think?” Adam grimaced. “He said he didn’t do it. He said he was innocent.”

  Casey looked down at the floor, at Adam’s shiny, black leather shoes. “He’s right, Adam. He didn’t do it.” She suddenly felt dizzy at that thought.

  “What do you mean, he didn’t kill her? Sure he did. He stabbed her with a knife. Just like Linda Truman.”

  “No,” Casey said softly. “Charles Gaitlin didn’t kill Angel Carey last night between eight and nine. He couldn’t have.” She met his gaze. “He couldn’t have because I was with him, Adam.”

  For a moment Casey’s office was dead silent. Down the hall, she heard footsteps. Muffled voices. The whirr of a photocopier.

  “You were with him?” Adam finally said. “With him?”

  “Well, no. Not with him.” She stepped back, sitting heavily in her chair. Her legs were feeling a little weak. “But I know where he was between eight and nine because…because I was follo
wing him.”

  Adam was silent.

  “I know, I know. It was stupid. It seems really stupid now.” She held her hand up and let it fall to her desk. “You knew I thought Gaitlin was following me. Harassing me. I couldn’t get the police to do anything about it because I had no proof.”

  “So you tailed him?” he asked incredulously.

  She leaned forward, dropping her face into her hands for a moment. She was trembling. All she could think of was that if Gaitlin hadn’t killed Angel…what if he hadn’t killed Linda, either? Had Jayne been right? Had they been persecuting an innocent man?

  “Casey?”

  She looked up. “Okay, I admit it. It was stupid on my part. It’s just that I didn’t want to be a victim. I know this is hard for you to understand, but I…I had something happen to me a long time ago. I swore I would never be victimized again.”

  He shook his head as he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “Casey…do you have any idea what a mess—” He halted midsentence.

  “It’s going to complicate the case, isn’t it?” She felt like an idiot. But how could she possibly have imagined anything like this could happen? What were the odds that Gaitlin’s latest ex would be stabbed to death and he wouldn’t be responsible?

  “So, what do I do now? Whom do I go to?” she asked. “The police? Gaitlin’s lawyers?” She grabbed her head again. “Lincoln’s not going to understand.”

  Adam sat back in the chair, opening his coat. “You should do what you think is best, but do you know what I think you should do?”

  She rested her hands on her desk. Took a deep breath. “Of course I want to know what you think. I highly respect you, Adam.”

  He half smiled. “You even like me a little, don’t you?”

  She smiled back but didn’t say anything. Considering the circumstances, she had no business flirting with him or anyone else.

  “Okay, here’s what you do.” He got out of the chair to pace behind it. “Nothing today.”

  “Nothing?”

  “The police may be calling you, interviewing you, but that will take a day or two. That will give us some time. Me some time.”