by Dean Murray
“So this Rewsna told you we were supposed to be together?” I could feel his eyes on me, but I was too nervous to look at his expression. I wasn’t sure if I could take another rejection from Max, and I knew that if he didn’t believe what I knew to be the truth, it would feel like a rejection. Rather than answer his question, I tried to make light of it, “I said we’re supposed to be together; Rewsna said I should try to unlock your memories.”
Max ran his fingers through my hair. We were both sitting on the couch. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I can have memories for you to unlock if we’ve only just met?”
“But you said I was familiar that night in the ambulance. What was familiar about me?”
Max looked puzzled, “I don’t know, I guess the way you looked at me, maybe your voice.”
“When we talked in the ambulance, what’d we talk about?”
“You mainly just kept asking me to come with you. That’d never happened before. And then your heart just stopped.”
“Then what?”
“Lauren – your heart stopped. There wasn’t much conversation after that.”
“So the only reason you came and checked on me in the hospital was…?”
“I wanted to be sure you were okay. I wasn’t expecting . . . I’m exhausted and I’ve only got a few hours before I’ve got to go to work.” I could tell he had purposely changed subjects. He pulled me in front of him on the couch, wrapping his arms around me. “Maybe if I sleep with you in my arms, my mind won’t be so distracted.”
What wasn’t he expecting? I was teetering on the verge of sleep when he whispered into my ear, “I didn’t think it was possible to feel this way about someone I hardly know.”
Feel what way? Should I push my luck and ask him how he feels? There was no doubt in my mind, this was where I was supposed to be. Max completed me. I hadn’t been tired when I arrived, but his sweet words felt like a lullaby, his warmth encompassed me, and I quickly fell asleep. Maybe my day had been more tiring than I realized.
I woke up to a note on the coffee table. It was dark outside, Max was gone, and I was alone. I picked up the note and read the words Max had left me.
Dear Lauren,
I couldn’t wake you up, you looked too peaceful. I phoned your parents and told them you were asleep on my couch. The keys for my truck are on the kitchen counter. You can take it home. Your mom told me that the television crews were relentless, so she recommended you stay. I would love to come home tomorrow and see you here.
Love, Max
I stared at the, “Love, Max,” and I felt giddy. I somehow wished I could hear him say it, but reading it was a thrill, too.
I looked at the clock across the room. It was barely 9:00. on a Sunday, and classes were suspended tomorrow – some quarterly staff meeting for the faculty. I began replaying my meeting with Rewsna. It was clear that I was Rachael’s protector. Without Rewsna even mentioning it to me, the events of today made it very clear. The way my body reacted to danger had to be uncommon. I rarely feel the prickly feeling on my neck, but today it felt like thousands of tiny needles protruding from it. I couldn’t have ignored it if I had tried.
I’m not anybody else’s protector that I am aware of, maybe Melissa’s? She was definitely in harm’s way, and I got her out of the way before there was any real danger, but the sensation with Melissa was more calculated. Rachael’s admirer elicited concern, not an absolute danger. I tried to do the same thing with Rachael as I had Melissa and just get her away, but Rachael proved to be much more difficult to persuade. Maybe my ability to protect them was directly relative to the amount of danger they were actually in?
Rachael seemed to be so charmed by Paul that it was as if all our history was meaningless at the time. If Paul were a temptation for Rachael and not an anarchist, would she have actually been in any real danger? How could I know the difference?
If Paul were a murderer, he would be someone’s anarchist, but to Rachael he might be merely a temptation. I wonder why? He was definitely trying to impress her with the car; maybe there was something about the car? Would offering her a ride in a stolen car lead to anything? If he wasn’t there to actually hurt her, what was he doing? It seemed as though everyone’s roles had an underlying significance, but I didn’t understand this one. Maybe I didn’t understand because Paul wasn’t one of the souls that was supposed to have an impact on me, so I wasn’t able to get a vibe from him except for what was required to protect Rachael. It sounded strange, but I was at a loss for a more plausible explanation. I needed to talk to Paul to find out what he was trying to do, but how in the world was I going to talk to him?
In my back pocket was the card from Officer Keith Johnson. He told me I could call him for an escort home. I wonder how he’d feel about giving me an escort into jail? Without giving myself enough time to talk myself out of it, I called the number on his card. He answered the phone on the third ring, “This is Johnson.”
“Hi, Officer Johnson, this is Lauren from the mall today.” I hoped that his friendliness at the mall wasn’t phony, and he really would help me.
“Hi, Lauren.” His tone was very comforting, “Is everything all right? Did you give my academy idea any more thought?” He seemed at ease talking to me, and I was hoping his greeting wouldn’t change to irritation when he found out why I was really calling.
“Actually, I’ve been kind of preoccupied all day, but I did want to call and ask you for a favor.”
“Civilians don’t often get a chance to catch a murderer – I understand being preoccupied.” His voice didn’t sound like he was concerned with me, a perfect stranger, asking for a favor. “What kind of favor were you looking for? My supervisor drove by your house earlier to check on you. Your dad told him you were at a friend’s house.”
“I am. Well he’s at work now, and I was going to go home, but before I face my parents, I was wondering about that guy you arrested.”
“Paul Stratford,” Officer Johnson stated the name flatly. In all the news reports I’d seen on television, his name hadn’t been released, so I was pleased that he would so openly share his name with me. It didn’t even require me to press him, so I felt encouraged that he would help arrange a meeting with Paul. “What about him?”
“Is he really a murderer like the news reports are saying?”
“It looks that way from the evidence at the scene and the fact that he was driving the victims’ car, but he isn’t talking.”
“If I wanted to visit him in jail, how would I do that?”
“Visit him? Why would you want to do that?” His tone was accusatory, as if this was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. I hadn’t thought this call through long enough beforehand to come up with a plausible reason for wanting to meet him, at least not one that a normal person would understand.
My pause was significantly longer than it should have been, “I don’t know why I want to talk to him. I just do. Do you know how I’d go about it?”
“Lauren, going to see him is a really bad idea. The City Attorney would have a heart attack if he got wind of this. Besides, you’re a key witness against him. Just meeting him and giving him information about yourself puts your life in danger from any number of accomplices he may have.”
“I’m sure he knows exactly who I am. I’ve noticed the news stations are protecting his identity, but my picture shows up every fifteen minutes. I’m not a key witness to anything, other than to him driving a stolen car. I don’t feel like I’m in any real danger; I just feel like I need to talk to him. Will you help me?”
“Nobody’s protecting him, Lauren. We didn’t release his name to the media. I don’t mind sharing his name with you for a couple reasons. One, you were instrumental in his capture, and two, you are obviously not a publicity hound. I never even saw you interviewed after the shooting. But meeting with him - it’s a bad idea and no, I can’t help you.”
Nothing. I couldn’t be upset with him. I couldn’t even be annoyed by his protectiv
eness. Then it occurred to me, maybe he was one of my protectors? Maybe he had more of an impact on me than I was giving him credit for. That’s just silly! Not everyone I run into has a special mission - some are just decent people who don’t want others to get hurt. “If you won’t help me get in to see him, where could I call to get the visitor information, like hours and rules?”
“Lauren, I don’t like this. It’s a bad idea. What can he possibly say to you that you need to hear? That he’s sorry, that he never meant to hurt your friend? Will that make a difference?”
“I just need to talk to him. I obviously foiled whatever plan he had, and it’s going to make me crazy if I can’t at least ask him what that plan was.”
“And you think he’s just going to confess everything to you? You’re as naïve as you are insightful, and that my friend, is a dangerous combination. He isn’t talking to anyone, and if I were him, I can tell you I wouldn’t talk to the person who saw through whatever line of crap I was feeding her friend and suddenly confess my intentions.”
“You still didn’t answer my question. Where do I go to find visitor information? If you don’t help me, I’ll find out on my own.”
He sighed into his receiver, “Well, it isn’t a national secret or anything. Visiting hours are noon until six daily, but if you aren’t one of his approved visitors, the jailer won’t let you in to see him.”
“So if he didn’t put me on the list, who else is authorized to? The Mayor, the City Attorney, maybe the Police Chief has enough pull? I’m sure I could ask one of them and they would be much more willing to help me.” I heard the frustration in my own voice, although I was trying not to be disrespectful. He had, after all, been very nice to me up until my hair-brained request.
“It is that important to you?”
“Yes, it really is.”
He sighed deeply again, pausing as if contemplating my request, then finally, “I wish I could help, but I could lose my badge.” He lectured me for a couple minutes on the virtues of self-preservation and not tempting fate. I didn’t listen all that closely. After we hung up I tried to run through other possibilities. I had tried to talk tough, but the Mayor, City Attorney and Police Chief couldn’t pick me out of a line-up, so I couldn’t expect a different reaction from them.
Max had a computer. It didn’t look like he had turned it on since he got back to town. I hit the power button and was thrilled to see he had a blank password. I did a few internet searches and got what I was looking for.
I called Paul’s mother, who seemed really nervous when she answered the phone. I told her I was a friend of Paul’s and wanted to visit him in jail, but didn’t know how to get a hold of him to ask him to put me on his list. She told me she would see him tomorrow, and would tell him I called. I told her my name was Rachael Madison. I had found a way to get on the visitor list. I could have given her my name, but after Officer Johnson denying my request, I had to assume he might tell someone that I had asked him. As I was feeling pretty smug with myself, I saw that Officer Johnson was calling me back. Crap! How could he have found out so quickly that I’d contacted Paul’s mom?
I answered, cautiously, “Hello?”
“Hi, Lauren, it’s Keith.”
“Hi, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, we were going over the case and realized I never got your statement at the mall today. Do you have time to come to the precinct tomorrow for a few minutes?”
“Uh, sure, I guess so. What time?”
“I can send a squad for you at 11:30. Will that work?”
“Do you need me to have Rachael come, too?”
“Naw, we do interviews separately. She’s next on my list. I’ll give her a call and see what her schedule is. I’ll see you around lunch time.”
Officer Johnson’s timing turned out to be just a coincidence. In the back of my mind I was worried that my phone was bugged or something – paranoia is usually from a guilty conscience. Lying to Paul’s mom about my identity was nerve-racking enough, but to have Officer Johnson call me five seconds later was enough to make me swallow my tongue.
Max was at work, so it was just me in his apartment: I might never have a better opportunity to snoop. Not that I thought he would mind my curiosity, at least that’s what I told myself.
His living room was neat and tidy, a little small for all the furniture he had in it. He had a matching sofa, love seat, reclining chair, coffee table, two end tables and a television. It was cramped by Martha Stewart’s standards, but cozy just the same. The furniture was in great shape, like he really didn’t spend much time here. There were no magazines, books, notepads, or even a phone book. The room actually reminded me of a model room in a furniture store. It made me giggle when I looked around for the cardboard television. There weren’t any pictures on the walls, and the mantel over the fireplace was bare. Max had told me he only kept this apartment to sleep in, and I have to say that I found nothing to dispel that in looking at the place.
I made my way into the kitchen, which looked like it was assembled at one store. There were four plates, cups, glasses, and sets of silverware; only three pans in the entire inventory. I opened the refrigerator to find nothing but leftover take out and condiments. There weren’t any knickknacks or personal items in the kitchen either. The bathroom was clean, and the door was open to Max’s bedroom.
Max’s bedroom consisted of a bed and a dresser. I took a peek in his closet and saw nicely pressed uniform shirts hanging at attention and slacks just to the side. This really was only a place to sleep, so where did he keep all his things? As I stepped back toward the living room, a frame setting on the edge of his dresser caught my eye. I stepped back into his bedroom and was surprised to see me smiling back at myself through the frame. I recognized the picture as the one the media showed when they mentioned my name. It must be one that my parents gave them several months ago. From the clarity of the print, it had to have been downloaded and printed from the internet. Though the likeness was definitely me, I made a mental note to get him a picture that didn’t look like it came out of a newspaper. It was touching to be the only personal item in his entire apartment.
I opened several drawers in the kitchen before I found paper and a pen. I wrote:
Max,
Thanks for letting me sleep. I’ve got an errand with the police tomorrow at noon, so I’ll call late in the afternoon. Have good dreams. I hope to see you there.
Love,
Lauren
I left his keys on the counter. It was thoughtful of him to leave me his truck, but I might not see him tomorrow and didn’t want to leave him stranded. Given the hour, I knew the bus wasn’t the best idea, and I didn’t want to call my parents to pick me up. I opted to phone a cab and only had to wait a few minutes for it to arrive. The ride home was less than ten minutes, and just as Officer Johnson had warned me, there were several news vans parked on the street. I handed the cab driver the money for the fare as well as a healthy tip. I took one more look out the window before I reached for the door. I saw Seth at his living room window. Remembering what Rewsna had told me, I decided I would sprint to his door rather than mine.
I reached his door and thankfully it was unlocked. I quickly let myself in before anyone parked outside spotted me. Seth had seen me running from the curb to his door and was standing up, a bit surprised. I asked, “Hi, what’re you doing?”
“I should be asking you the same thing. You’re in the wrong house.” His miserable tone was unmistakable. I looked to where he had been sitting and could see a photo album sticking out from underneath the cushion of the couch. I was hoping he was looking at photos of his father or something, but I knew better.
“I came to see you, so I’ll ask again, what are you doing? Or should I rephrase, what’re you doing at home on a Sunday when there’s no classes tomorrow?”
“What do you care? I thought you were at Mr. Wonderful’s place.”
“I was at Max’s house, but he had to work, so I thought I’d spend
some quality time with you.”
“Well, I guess it’s a comfort to know that I’m a close second.” His comment was sharp and it was accompanied by a glare.
Not wanting him to think his attitude was acceptable, I threw in, “Who said it was even close?”
“So did you come here for any particular reason?” His glare hadn’t subsided. I knew his words were meant to stab me, but I let it roll right off. In my mind our weeks of isolation from each other should have had more of a healing effect. It looked like I was way off the mark on that assumption.
“Actually, I’m here to take you out. Get dressed, let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” It was now crystal clear to me that there was a reason I hadn’t seen Seth much in the last few months. His moping around and sadness had now given way to anger and disdain. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Seth, my dear, the love of my life - I made a horrible mistake and I have come to salvage what is left of us,” sarcasm seethed from every pore on my body, it was unmistakable…except to Seth.
He took a step toward me, barely choking out, “Really?”
“No, you bonehead, get dressed, we’re going out. I’ll make a fool of both of us in front of at least two television network crews if you tell me no one more time. Now get a move on.”
“Lauren, look…I appreciate that you….you feel sorry for me and everything, but this isn’t a good time for me.” His overcast mood was dismal and something inside me told me that this was the night he had to get out.
“You idiot, if I felt sorry for you, I would send you roses or something. You’ve been my best friend my entire life; I had a pretty outrageous day, and I need to go blow off some steam. If you haven’t noticed, I seem to be a magnet for peril lately, and I don’t want to go out by myself. You don’t have to hold doors open for me, buy me dinner, or even talk. You’re welcome to sulk quietly; you are not, however, permitted to let me go for a night on the town by myself. Now for the last time, go get dressed.”
