Doubt is back, making inroads into my resolve. I had resolved to stand with Erin, the victim, even if it meant losing Dan, even if it broke me apart.
But ever since I got news that Erin went to the police behind my back, the ground has been quaking under my feet. Hairlines cracks are creeping into my mind, breaking apart my logic.
Is Dan the victim in all this?
I look at the business card that Gia gave me. Her information is printed on the front. She’s a manager of some pet boutique. I flip the card over and find a phone number written on the back. Call and find out for yourself.
Then I look over at Erin. "Gia said you killed someone. Your ex. Is that true?"
I see Erin’s face crumple right before she covers it with both of her hands. "It was awful," she says in a muffled broken voice. "He was going to kill me, so I—I just got there first."
Her confession hits me like a punch in the gut. It’s true then. She killed someone. Took someone’s life. And then she starts crying in earnest and looks up at me, face red, tears running down her flushed cheeks.
"It wasn’t cold blooded murder like Gia would like you to believe. I’d be in jail if that was the case, wouldn’t I? I mean that’s a jailable offense last time I checked. But I’m not in jail. And I’m just trying to defend myself from Gia’s delusional lies."
She grabs the business card from my hands.
"Hey!" I cry, but before I stop her, she rips the card into two and then two again.
"Lies like this," she cries, holding up the pieces.
"What are you doing?" I ask, taking the pieces from her and slipping them into my back pocket. "That was my card. Gia gave it to me."
She seems stunned momentarily. Then her face crumples. "I’m so sorry," she says, looking down at her empty hands. "I guess I’m not handling this very well, am I." She sniffles and manages a sad little smile that melts away some of my resistance.
"So . . ."
"So I should have told you, but it was so awful. And it’s so hard to relive. I hope you can understand. It’s not exactly something I tell people that I’ve just met. ‘Oh, by the way.’" She chuckles a little.
"Yeah, I get that," I say. And I do. That’s not exactly something you blurt out to people. Especially if that person is the girlfriend of your ex, who she just officially accused of assault.
"So I changed my name to get away from it. I meant to tell you. I really did. I was just—I guess I was trying to find the right time." She shrugs hopefully and smiles a little. "Maybe that time is now? Why don’t I open up that bottle of red that I brought?"
I nod. That’s probably a good idea. I could some wine, especially considering the police confessional conversation coming up.
Erin gets up, carries the grocery bag to the kitchen, and starts unloading it. It’s awkward having Erin over to Dan’s house, but he won’t know. The very earliest he could possibly land on American soil is tomorrow morning, taking into consideration flight times from the Middle East to Los Angeles, followed by either a flight or a long drive down to San Diego. My calculations don’t take into account flight delays, briefings and debriefings, and the red tape involved with repatriating a soldier sent home early from deployment.
Who knows when Dan will actually show up at the front door, but Erin’s presence still makes me nervous. I feel like I’m a teenager hosting a house party while my parents are away. Except I’m not a teenager hosting a house party. I’m Dan’s girlfriend, trying to land a solid grip on the slippery truth.
"God, I could so use a drink after that," she says when I join her in the kitchen.
"I’ll get the glasses," I mumble, pulling two wineglasses down from the cabinet.
Erin fills up two wineglasses, and hands one to me. "Here you go."
I feel my own strength faltering in the face of this terrible maelstrom. I take a big swig, hoping to take the edge off, hoping to deaden some of the noise so I can get the heart of the matter.
"You know what I like about you?" she says, looking over at me. "No scratch that. You know what I love about you?" I cringe inside. Is this the beginning of a girl-mance? I hope Erin isn’t getting the wrong idea. "You’re so strong and brave."
"Thanks," I say. "But I’m really not. You’re the one who could use some support right now, but look at you—bolstering me up instead." If a stranger accused me of faking domestic abuse and killing someone, I’d be utterly beside myself.
"Isn’t that what friends do?" she asks, but the soft tone of her voice makes me tense.
I take a sip of wine—not much, I still need my faculties working—feeling a little more relaxed, and exhale a big breath. All these doubts are circling around in my mind like a maelstrom, but one thing is still certain. I saw Dan shaking Erin with my own two eyes. "So I listened to the recording you sent me. But I guess you already knew that."
Erin tucks some hair behind one ear and tilts her head to the side. "I heard, yeah."
"I just—what you said really struck me. What you said about triggering memories?"
"Mmhm."
"And I needed to know. I needed to know if Dan did it or not."
Erin pulls in a breath, her nostrils flare. "That was so brave of you. Wow."
I never considered myself to be the type of person that needs sunshine blown up my nether regions, but all her complimentary words feel good. I smile, despite the fission cracks spreading through my mind.
"What did you see?" Erin asks. "If you don’t mind me asking?"
I breathe out. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for centuries. My body relaxes a smidgen. I feel like maybe I’m on the right track.
"I saw Dan shaking you. I saw your hair flying. I saw—" But my voice cracks. I can’t finish. It’s so hard to come to grips with the truth of Dan’s character.
She pulls her mouth into a tight smile, pressing her lips together. "Sorry you had to see that."
It’s breaking me apart knowing that Dan did this even as Gia’s words hammer apart that very truth like a pneumatic drill.
You didn’t see Dan hit her, did you?
"Listen, Erin, I asked you to come over because I wanted to tell you that I talked to the police. I gave them my statement for all the good it will do. They seemed more interested in how much I had to drink that night." Big surprise there.
Her eyes are bright and glimmering, her eyebrows raised. "You talked to the police? Oh, you don’t know what a relief that is for me! I can’t believe you did that."
My pulse is thumping. Confrontation is not my thing, but since we’re on the topic of police confessions . . . "And I know you went to the police, too. When were you planning on telling me?"
Erin turns her back toward me, and her shoulders begin trembling.
"Erin, are you okay?"
"You’re right. I should have told you that I went to the police. I guess I’m not handling this whole thing very well, am I?" She sniffs a couple of times, and manages to say, "Sorry," in a soft croaky voice. She turns to me finally, wiping the corner of her eye with her finger. "It’s just that it was such a shock to see Gia here. I saw her break into my house. I saw her leaving. She—she walked out of the front door. How brazen is that?" Erin swallows some wine, while I think back to Gia’s denial—that’s a lie! But why would Erin lie about something like that? "I was absolutely terrified because it seemed so random. But now I know why she did it. She was looking for something that would turn you against me. And—and then she comes down here spewing all these lies." She flicks her wrist and red wine sloshes dangerously close to the rim. "And—and then she spied on you?" She glances around the kitchen and leans close to me, her voice low. "I can’t help but think that maybe she’s trying to set you up somehow." The idea strikes me like a sucker punch.
"Me?"
Erin’s nodding now, gesticulating, wine sloshing, as she details her suspicions. "Isn’t it odd that she knows us both? That she spied on us both? Did you ever wonder about that? And more importantly, how did she track you dow
n? And why? Why would someone do that?"
"Because she wanted to tell me about Dan . . ." I murmur, but now I’m not so sure.
"We need to tell the police. Before she fills their ears with poison. Would you consider doing that, Brynn? Talking to the police again? Telling them what happened with Gia? How you found her standing outside your window?"
"Well . . ."
"The best way to strengthen our case is for you to testify. If you don’t—if you don’t tell the police about what you saw, about Gia stalking you, then what are we going to do?"
"We?" My stomach is in knots.
"Yes, we. Brynn, Gia is stalking us both. And we were both there the night that Dan beat me senseless." I wince. "And—and we’re both witnesses to his crime. You said it yourself, you saw him shaking me, beating me."
"Not beating . . ." I say. Erin stares at me, locking her eyes with mine and making me feel so uncomfortable that I look away. "And anyway, is that even admissible in a court of law? I was off my face. Pretty sure the prosecutors will have a heyday."
"Well, I wasn’t off my face. I know exactly what happened. And maybe,"—the wine is back, slopping over the rim now—"maybe Dan is in cahoots with Gia, trying to scare us into submission."
I feel like I’ve hopped aboard the crazy train. Toot! Toot! Dan in cahoots with a psychic?
But Erin does seem to have a cohesive theory, doesn’t she? There must be a grain of truth in there somewhere. Right? I’m concentrating, trying really hard to find that grain . . .
"I mean,"—and suddenly Erin’s wine splashes out and douses my blouse and white shorts.
I gasp and jump back.
Erin’s there, smothering me with a wet dish towel, offering to stain treat my clothes if I could just go and change, because she knows all about stains, and a red wine stain needs to be treated immediately or else it will set in, and—
"Stop!" I cry. She freezes, kitchen towel in hand. "Just stop." I mumble, feeling wretched for yelling at her, feeling suffocated that she’s here. "Maybe you should just go."
Erin’s eyes well up with tears, making me feel worse than awful.
"Sorry. I’m so sorry," she says. "But think about it, okay? Just a quick chat with the police . . ." And she gathers up her stuff and leaves.
After the front door closes, I dump my wine-stained clothes into the washing machine and start the cycle. Fat chance that will fix up the stains, but honestly, at this point, I really don’t give a shit.
41
BRYNN
After Erin leaves and the house falls silent, I’m more rattled than ever. Erin’s words fly around in my mind like a star knife, slicing me apart. I can’t help but think that maybe she’s trying to set you up.
Then I have Gia in my head, the confirmed Peeper, saying: You didn’t see him hit her, did you?
I wish Dan would just get home already. I’m not sure how much his arrival will improve matters any, but at least I can fall out of this holding pattern: waiting for the other shoe to drop, watching my back, and getting set up, apparently, by Gia or Erin or maybe the Abominable Snowman; I honestly don’t know what to believe anymore.
Will Dan even want me here when he arrives? I used some pretty choice words in my email. I wouldn’t be surprised if he kicks me out upon arrival. Where will I go? I don’t know, but I had better figure it out.
I could move in with my brother (no thanks), but he lives on the East Coast (even worse). I grew up there, suffering hot summers, stifling humidity, and boring bone-chilling winters. I certainly don’t want to go back there, but I need to think of somewhere to go. Maybe I’ll just dust off Plan B and roll on over to Australia, where I can pick apples and nurse my broken heart.
While I’m considering my next move, Erin’s words swoop in and peck at me like carrion crows, cawing and breaking apart my mental stability. Isn’t it odd that she knows us both?
Followed by Gia’s words of wisdom: You and Dan are in danger.
But isn’t that what Erin said? I think we’re in trouble . . .
I can hardly get my head around this. Who is lying? And who is telling the truth?
Well, everyone can stop worrying about me because I’m leaving. I just decided. I’ll wait until Dan arrives so that I can say goodbye in person. I owe him that much. In the meantime, I need to pack. So I start in the master bedroom closet and begin sifting through my clothes, dividing them in two piles: keep and donate.
I get through the first shelf without a mini breakdown. I’m starting on the second shelf, when emotion overwhelms me. What do I do with the joke princess t-shirt that Dan gave me? I don’t know. I can’t decide.
I abandon my project, walk to the front room, and flick on the TV to give my mind a rest. Commercials accost me, so I turn my gaze to the bay window and see clouds in the evening sky turning deep shades of vermillion. I set the remote control down, walk out to the front porch, and sit down on the first step.
As the sun lowers, the clouds fill with hues of vibrant fuchsia and burnt apricot. Across the street, a few doors down, a guy wrestles a box out of his trunk. A woman with bouncy hair jogs past, looking spiffy and carefree in her athletic get-up. There was a point in time when I was that spiffy carefree person.
Now, I’m a shadow of myself, doing my level best just to get through the day. I took the week off from work. I told my manager that I’m sick, and that’s not so far from the truth.
I look skyward, watching the clouds grow sharper in contrast to the soft blue sky, trying to calm the chaos in my own mind. Trying to make sense of this.
You didn’t see Dan hit her, did you?
The sky turns blue-violet, streaked with spreading golden light, and I find myself wondering how Gia knew that Erin showed up with a photo and a recording? That’s the real mystery. How did she know? Is she really a psychic? Or just a crazy faker?
But then I think about what Erin said. How did she track you down? And why? Did you ever wonder that? I remember Gia’s psych ward papers that Erin showed me. And the mystery of her knowledge is revealed. She snooped and spied and made it all up. But why? Now she wants me to call someone and discover something.
Call and find out for yourself.
Is this some sort sick game? It does sound like a set up. Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t have time for treasure hunts put together by crazy people. The sky fades into soft pastel hues. Night is coming. Another night without Dan.
I’m thinking about what the following few days will bring and how our love story ended so wrong, when voices from the television drift to my ears. "And tonight on the evening news . . . a local military man is accused of assault and battery. That and much more. Just after this short break."
My blood runs cold. I get up and rush inside, praying some other military man got caught roughing up a girl. Not my Dan. Please, not my Dan.
The commercials are impossibly cheerful, given the topic at hand. How can the TV network be so callous? I watch a nice family buy a new car, the kids tucked into their giant booster seats with big straining smiles. Then there’s someone running to catch a bus, only to get drenched by a spray of puddle water. But he takes some cold medicine, so problem solved.
I can’t stand up anymore. My knees weaken just thinking about the upcoming news segment. I back up to the couch and sit down. Once there, my knee bounces uncontrollably, but it’s okay. I’m releasing anxiety.
And finally, after watching Fido dig in, the evening reporters are back. It’s a man and woman team, color coordinated. The woman is looking impossibly young, yet exceedingly professional. How is her life so put together when mine is such a wreck?
Quiet. She’s about to speak.
"Tonight, we learn about Dan Evans, a local Navy corpsman, who allegedly beat up his ex-girlfriend—a night on the town gone terribly wrong."
I cannot move. They show a picture of the club—"where the incident allegedly occurred"—its black doors closed, followed by a picture of Dan looking handsome in his military uniform that sen
ds a jolt down my arms, and a seductive selfie of Erin, heavy on the filters. My knee is working overtime, jangling out of control. Dan Evans. The news network said his name.
This is like an awful surreal movie. I half expect a lighting director to wander into my living room with a light meter in hand, pointing it at my face and reporting his findings. But nobody is wandering into to my living room except Fear.
"Dan Evans, a medical officer in the United States Navy, will face charges of assault and battery in the second degree. A felony charge, if found guilty."
The camera flicks to the newsman, who embarks on the second story of the evening: a cat who saved her elderly owner. And as they rattle off the rest of their program, interspersed with overly loud commercials, I sit as still as a stone.
42
DAN
This can’t be happening to me. This is like a bad dream that I can’t wake up from. Getting sent home early from deployment? Facing charges of assault and battery and rape? My CO’s words ricochet around in my mind like an echo chamber. We have a real big fucking problem here!
Yes. We do. The bird finally takes off from Doha. Set in the steep incline of departure, I press my palms into my eye sockets as reality begins to bite. My eyes burn, but the tears won’t come. I won’t let them come. I won’t let Erin win. There has to be a way to get out of this with my career, my integrity, and my reputation intact.
All during the long hours of the flight, my mind clicks meticulously over every last detail, trying to find an angle of attack, trying to find a way to save my ass, but the answer keeps eluding me. About four hours into the flight, I find that I’m just going around in circles, chasing answers like mice that keep slipping away.
By the time we land in San Diego, I feel like a gesticulating corpse. I collect my rucksack from baggage claim and take a taxi to a nearby hotel so I can grab some shut-eye before I’m due onto the base tomorrow afternoon, where my superiors will ease my ass into a sling.
Keep Me In Sight Page 19
