Dark Corners Page 13

I awoke the next morning disappointed that I had time to get to my appointment with Dr. Livingston. Having to see him just when I was starting to do better was as threatening to my happiness as a drill being held against my temple would be to my life. Gabriel and I had a quiet morning, I wasn't in the mood to talk and he let me shuffle around silently. He offered to drive me to my appointment, but I refused. I didn't want to go at all, let alone go early. I called a cab and still arrived at Dr. Livingston’s office slightly before my appointment. The receptionist was her normal bubbly self, smacking gum and filing her fingernails while taking a personal call, rather than announcing that I was waiting. My last leg of patience had nearly run out. I was prepared to walk out unable to justify the ridiculous amount of time I spent waiting every week, when he opened his door and ushered me in. I had the immediate impulse to take his couch or do something equally bratty. However, I resisted.

  “So Ella, how are you doing?”

  “I'm fine, Dr. Livingston. How are you?”

  “Well. Thank you for asking.”

  “You’re welcome. That was a quick session. Are we done here?”

  “Ella, you’re not a captive. You can go whenever you want.”

  “You know I was thinking about the first time I met you the other day.”

  “Are you recollecting that better?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In all the time you’ve been seeing me, this is the first time you have mentioned it. When I brought it up, you deflected with stories of ghosts.”

  Why did he always make me feel so small and defensive? I tried to remember what he was talking about, but couldn’t distinguish those first few sessions from the hundreds that followed. “Anyway, why I brought it up, I am curious about your take on my falling down the stairs.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re avoiding my question. Do you believe I fell or that I tried to kill myself?”

  “I do not make judgments here....”

  “Bullshit. You make them in police reports. Everyone makes judgments. Tell me the truth.”

  “Do you feel like people often judge you?”

  “Don’t try to turn this on me.”

  “If you read the police report then you know what my professional opinion was.”

  “I want to stop taking the medication now.”

  Dr. Livingston appeared puzzled at first, then his face switched to curious. “Why?”

  “I want to try without it.”

  “I'm not sure if that’s the right decision to make at this point in your therapy.”

  “We've been through this before. If I have to, I’ll just stop taking them on my own.”

  “Okay. We'll lessen them gradually until you are off, but if you start feeling any adverse symptoms you need to let me know at once.”

  “I’m still unclear as to why I was put on them in the first place. I was sad after Danny died, but isn’t that normal? Shouldn't I have been sad? It's not normal to try to block all emotion.”

  “Do you feel like you are blocking your feelings?”

  “I feel like the medication is. I feel like I am not accepted when I have emotions or exhibit them.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You tell me. Why did you immediately push medication on me?”

  “I am sensing a lot of hostility in you today.”

  “I'm questioning your judgment. Is that necessarily hostile?”

  “You were there for every decision made. I haven’t forced anything on you. Why are you questioning this now?”

  “You guys bullied me. I didn’t even want to see you. I most certainly haven’t agreed to any of this willingly.”

  “Do you feel like you're a victim?”

  “No, at least not anymore.” I stood up. “Good bye, Dr. Livingston. I won’t be back.” I walked out the door—something I’d wanted to do since I started coming here. It felt absolutely amazing to finally to do something proactive, to not let my life continue to be dictated by a ghost.

  I found myself looking forward to the small dinner party I was planning, excited about another small piece of normalcy being reintroduced into my life. I focused on cleaning and preparing dinner while mindlessly humming. It had been a long time since I’d truly been this happy. It was turning into a wonderful day. Nothing weird or strange, just blissfully normal.

  Susan and Doug arrived thirty minutes early to “help me prepare.” They were both all smiles, seeming as happy to be back to something that resembled normal as I was. I suspected, however, their early arrival had more to do with wanting time to question me about Gabriel before he arrived than actually being helpful.

  “Everything looks amazing, El,” Susan said inspecting the meal I was preparing. Brueschetta and a cheese platter waited on the counter for hungry guests on the counter. Lasagna and Greek salad would follow, with cherries jubilee to finish.

  “I'll have to work out for a month to work this off,” Susan joked. Doug hung back not saying much or joining in on our conversation. It briefly went through my mind that he still blamed me for Danny’s death, but I did my best to dismiss it. He was probably just missing Danny. This was normally the time they would wander off to talk about man stuff while Susan and I carried on with our woman chatter. I put Susan to work chopping cucumber and sent Doug to the wine cellar.

  After he stepped out of the room, Susan said, “Doug hasn’t been the same since Danny died. I don't know if it was the brush with his own mortality or what. I pretend I don’t notice though, because when I try to talk to him he gets angry.”

  “So I've been warned. I thought he seemed quiet. I figured he was just missing a male counterpart.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You were in this deep dark hole of guilt and self-pity. Now, well, you seem like a different person.” Susan paused and I could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully. “Detective Troy has made quite the difference in you. How does it feel to be dating again? Especially someone who knows all skeletons your closet?”

  “Who’s dating?” Doug asked coming up the stairs.

  “Ella.” Susan said the same time I said “No one.”

  A range of different emotions flashed across Doug’s face. “Which is it then?”

  “I'm not dating anyone. Detective Troy and I are friends. He’s helping me.”

  “With what?” Doug asked.

  “Finding Danny’s killer.”

  His blank expression was broken by a smile that almost looked like relief. “How's that coming along?” He asked with mild interest, but I sensed him slipping away from the conversation, as if he’d found out what he wanted to know from me.

  “Slow.”

  “You don’t think it's a ghost anymore?” Susan smiled at her little dig at me.

  “Don’t judge until you’ve been in this house for at least a week, then tell me you don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Susan doesn’t believe in anything.” Doug smirked and busied himself with opening the wine bottle.

  Susan frowned. “I believe in people. Ghosts are ridiculous. Someone killed Danny and it wasn't supernatural. It was a flesh and blood killer.”

  “Perhaps.” I shrugged. “Perhaps not.”

  “What have you found?” Susan asked.

  “Odds and ends really—nothing I want to get into. Even if a ghost didn't kill Danny, that doesn’t mean the house isn’t haunted. Weird things happen here all the time, and it's not just in my head like Danny used to say. Gabriel’s seen and heard things too.”

  “Who’s Gabriel?” Doug asked obviously not keeping up.

  “Detective Troy,” Susan said sharply. “He must be here an awful lot if he’s witnessed your ghost, El.”

  It was my turn to choose my words carefully. “He is here a lot. It's nice to have the company sometimes.” Susan pursed her lips and Doug’s back stiffened.

  “What do you guys want from me? Am I never able to have friends, t
o move on? Danny died over a year ago. I don’t have the energy to mourn anymore. Am I supposed to be a perpetual widow?”

  “No one’s saying that. It's just hard to get used to another man being in Danny’s house,” Susan said quietly.

  “It’s my house.”

  At this most opportune time, my phone rang. It was Gabriel canceling on the evening. Something had come up with work and he couldn’t make it to dinner. I was surprised at the disappointment I felt. Chalking it up to wanting Susan and Doug to get to know him so they would accept him, I didn’t explore the other possible reasons for my dismay.

  “That was Gabriel. He can’t make it tonight. Something came up at work.” At this news, Doug seemed to perk up a bit and Susan relaxed visibly. “If you guys would give him a chance, you’d like him.”

  “I'm sure you’re right, Ella, but I spoke with him enough during his investigation,” Susan said tartly.

  Despite our differing opinions on Gabriel dinner went fairly well. We reminisced about better days. I never realized the impact Danny’s death had on them. The tension between the two of them was noticeable and often uncomfortable. I felt guilty for being so difficult after the funeral, for not allowing room for their pain. Before desert, Doug excused himself saying he had an early delivery coming to the store in the morning and he needed to make room for it. Susan volunteered to get a cab home and he left after kissing Susan goodbye and giving me a friendly hug.

  “He was quiet tonight,” I said conversationally.

  “Yeah. He has a lot to do with the inventory. I wasn’t feeling well, so he was at the store all day instead of doing the paper work like normal. Now he has to catch up on everything.”

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “I just had a headache.” Susan was quiet for a while, then blurted out, “I don’t know if Doug and I are going to make it.”

  “What?”

  “It hasn’t been good between us for a long time, even before Danny died. Doug’s just so removed and distant. It's only getting worse. It started with both of us being so busy with the store that we never really had time together. We've grown so far apart, I hardly recognize him. I have no idea what he’s thinking anymore.”

  “I'm sorry, Susan.”

  “I just don’t know what to do to fix this, you know? I don’t know how to reach him, to reintroduce myself, so to speak.... I can hardly get him to say two words to me at home. Tonight is the most I’ve heard him speak to a non-customer in a month.”

  “You have to try. If Danny were here now, I would try.”

  “Danny wouldn’t be giving you the silent treatment.”

  “No, perhaps not. But we would have plenty to talk about.”

  Susan tilted her head to the side. “Like what?”

  “He was having an affair.”

  “Ella…”

  “Don’t be condescending. I know I’m right. I have evidence.”

  “What kind of evidence could you possibly have after this long?’

  “I have a sock, a shirt, and ... a hair.” I noticed Susan’s long blonde hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail for the evening. My mind was running in glue, stuck and unable to process any further information. It was shutting down as a form of self-preservation. The world seemed frozen around me as the thought my mind had been avoiding for however long finally surfaced and it all clicked. The words escaped from my lips. “It was you.” I said feeling sick.

  “That is ridic—”

  “No, not ridiculous—I know it's you. That shirt is one that I've seen on both you and Doug. I can’t believe I didn’t remember before now. The hair, how he managed to find the time, it all makes sense.” Anger surged up, replacing the initial shock. “How could you? How could you pretend to be my friend? How could you stand by me like you were some sort of saint when really you’re a backstabbing, whore? How?” I ended in a yell. Tears didn’t come to my eyes though; only white-hot fury burned there. Susan was crying. Proof enough of her guilt.

  “I'm so sorry. You were never supposed to find out. I'm so sorry,” she kept saying almost like a chant. This did nothing for my anger.

  “Stop saying you're sorry and give me some answers!”

  “We never meant for it to happen. It just did. Danny broke it off before you came back from you book tour. We were both lonely. Doug had pulled away and you...”

  “I what?”

  “You tried to kill yourself.”

  “I did not!”

  “We thought so at the time. You’d been so out of sorts. Then with losing the baby—he’d convinced himself you never wanted the baby, since you were so unhappy here and that’s why you did it.”

  “I didn’t even know about the baby.” For some reason talking about the baby that I never knew existed drained all my rage away and left me feeling empty. “Go.”

  “Ella, we still need to talk about this. You can’t tell Doug. It will be the final straw in our marriage.”

  “You disgust me. Call yourself a cab and leave my house.” I walked away from her, leaving her in the kitchen alone. I went to the family room and curled into a ball on my couch, waiting for her to leave. I couldn’t even stand the sight of her. I felt sick and betrayed. About ten minutes later, I heard a car pull up, Susan sniffling, and then the front door close behind her. I couldn't find the tears in myself. I felt hollow. Unable to feel anything. I’d been so close to getting out of the hole I’d dug for myself, but I could feel it pulling me back. I was slipping, sliding, falling back into the nothingness.

  I picked up the phone and called Gabriel. He was my last ally, my only line of defense.

  “Troy.”

  “You missed quite an evening.” My voice was raspy from unshed tears.

  “I'm getting ready to leave now. What happened?”

  “If you’re on your way, I’ll just tell you when you get here.”

  “Okay. Are you all right?”

  “Do you ever get tired of asking me that?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “Not really. I think I plunged backwards tonight.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  I didn't say anything further, just hung up. I poured myself an impossibly large glass of vodka and eased back into the couch, trying to become one with it. My mind drifted.

  I sat in the overstuffed chair in the living room, thinking of the fight Danny and I had. He stormed out of the house, angry with me again. We’d been fighting so much recently. I wish I knew how to stop it, but I didn’t. We were spiraling downwards fast, but I couldn’t reach the brakes.

  I knew I was moody and defensive, but he left me little choice. He didn’t want to see that the house was evil. My dreams were getting worse and I’d been keeping Danny up too. Now we were both exhausted and irritable. Some days were like World War Three, others we barely spoke. Less and less we had those moments of feeling truly connected.

  I knew I was partly to blame. I was closing myself off from him as well. I couldn’t stand him making fun of me anymore, so I stopped telling him about the things I saw and heard. He all but accused me of lying about everything. Said that I’d never really wanted to move here, so I was trying to make him miserable so he would sell his family’s home. Pointed out that everything conveniently happened while he was gone or in another room, that nothing ever happened to both of us.

  I told him that was bullshit. He just wasn’t watching. If he’d stop worrying so damn much about renovating the damn house and pay just a little bit of attention to what was happening right in front of his face, maybe he’d see it too. Then he accused me of shutting him out, shutting everyone out. He wasn’t wrong. I completely stopped really talking to him, afraid of what he thought of me.

  I also stopped going to game night, because Susan and Doug began expecting a weekly crazy Ella story. The last game night I went to, I completely lost it during Danny’s latest Ella story.

  “I don’t appreciate being mocked,” I yelled and stormed out, beginning to walk home.
Danny caught up in the car and demanded I get in, but I refused. I was far too angry to listen to him or be in such an enclosed space. I wanted to shake him, make him understand. The frustration that I couldn’t, made me resentful. Eventually he drove off, leaving me.

  Tonight’s fight, however, was different. I didn’t instigate it. I was collecting clothes to do laundry and checking pockets to make sure they were all empty when Danny walked in the room. He stared at me in horror.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped.

  “Laundry,” I said, my eyes widening at his reaction.

  He crossed the room with such force I flinched and pulled his pants from my hands. “Are you snooping through my pockets? What do you think you'll find?”

  “I'm not snooping. I'm just checking that they’re empty—wait. What are you so afraid I’ll find, Daniel?” I asked, my surprise giving way to anger.

  “Damn it, Ella, don’t lie to me. What happened to when you used to trust me?”

  “I'm not lying; I’m doing the wash. What are you hiding?” I snapped.

  “Nothing, you’re paranoid.”

  “Ha, I am—good one. You’re the one acting paranoid.”

  “Ella, you've been nothing but a ball of nerves and baseless worries since we moved here. I'm not going to feed it. You're here looking for something you can use against me.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of pants he was holding and turned them inside out. “See? Nothing.” He tossed the pants on the floor in a huff and stormed out.

  I sat of the edge of the bed at a complete loss for words. Eventually I finished collecting clothes and put on a load, then I sat in the living room and waited for Danny to come back. We had a problem, a big problem.

  When he finally returned, I didn’t say anything. Just watched him silently. Eventually he turned to me. A frown on his normally happy face made him look older. He knelt on the floor in front of my chair and took my hands in his.

  “I’m sorry I flew off the handle.”

  I nodded, but still said nothing. I waited for him to explain.

  “It's just there’s so much going on. You're unhappy. You've stopped talking to me—and you were my best friend. I thought we were in this together. We don’t even feel like a couple anymore.” I turned my head away from him not wanting to see his liquid eyes as he made excuses.

  “The restorations seem endless. I'm exhausted all the time. I know you are too. All of these things keep happening to you and I don’t have the answers,” He turned my head back towards him “I don’t know how to fix it,” he said squeezing my fingers. I could see the intensity in his eyes as he willed me to understand his point of view.

  I pushed the thought that he was having an affair to the back of my mind, but couldn’t make it leave all together. “You don’t have to fix anything, just believe me.” I could feel myself softening.

  “But it's impossible. These things can’t be happening. My family’s lived here for hundreds of years—no one else ever had problems with ghosts. Hell, Ella, I don’t even believe in ghosts.”

  I pulled my hands from his.

  “Fine. But never yell accusations at me again, unless you want me to leave.” I stood and left the room, leaving him on the kneeling on the floor.

  I made myself stop remembering. I didn't move a muscle, I didn't think, I just sat. I couldn’t tell if I waited hours or seconds before Gabriel knocked on my door and I answered. The very sight of him made me burst into tears. All the emotions I hadn’t been able to feel hit me and there was no holding them back. Sobs ripped through my body and I collapsed into his arms. At first, he was confused. He kept asked me if something happened, what was wrong? I couldn't answer. He ushered me back to the couch, holding me until I calmed down enough to talk.

  “What happened?”

  “Susan. Danny had the affair with Susan. And he blamed me for losing the baby. I didn’t remember, but I do now,” I said through sobbing gasps for air.

  “Wait. What?”

  I shook my head. I couldn't say it again.

  “It was Susan? How do you know?”

  “She mentioned how her marriage to Doug was on the rocks. I told her she should fight for her relationship—that I would if Danny were here. Then she asked why I’d even need to fight.” I sniffed, took another deep breath and pushed on. “I told her he’d been having an affair and she asked how I knew for sure and I listed the things we found. When I got to the hair, I looked at her and everything hit me. She denied it at first then she admitted it.”

  “Wow.” he seemed stunned. “What did you do?”

  I recapped the rest of the evening, including her accusation that I’d tried to kill myself—and the baby. The baby. The baby stung.

  “How could you forget about that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I remembered it in a dream I had earlier, but for some reason my mind overshadowed it with indignation over people thinking I’d tried to kill myself. It didn't sink in—I didn't know I was pregnant. I was hurt, had hit my head hard, was heavily medicated by the good Dr. Livingston—I’ve been in a haze for nearly two years. I've lost two years of my life.”

  “I'm so sorry all of this has happened to you,” he said, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I closed my eyes and lay pressed against him until morning.

  Morning was slow going. Little sleep partnered with suffocating thoughts of the night before made finding motivation to move quickly impossible. Retreating to my warm, safe bed where I could pull the covers over my head and let the world disappear seemed ideal, but I had to wait for Gabriel to leave. He lingered though, as if looking for an excuse to not abandon me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I told him quietly.

  “Of course you will be,” he said with too much confidence, “but if you need someone, you know ... I can take the day off.”

  “You should go to work.”

  “I can stay.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at his persistence. “What about tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that? I appreciate that you are trying to be here for me, I do. But I have to be able to do things on my own without slipping into a deep dark depression. I have to be able to handle setbacks without shattering into a million pieces. I’ll try some writing today.”

  “If you start—if anything...” His concern for my wellbeing warmed my sad heart a little.

  “I know.”

  He kissed my forehead, pulling me in tight. His tenderness brought fresh tears to my eyes. I crawled into bed immediately after he left, not even bothering to change out of my clothes from the night before. As my head sank into the soft, silken pillow stillness surrounded me and I drifted to sleep.

  My sleep was deep and filled with dreams of violence, blood, and terror. I awoke several times, cold sweat beading on my forehead as my mind fought the lingering images. However, I was too tired to not continue to try to sleep.

  Eventually though, the distant sound of the phone ringing was the encouragement I needed to give up the ghost and just get out of bed. Unfortunately, I was more exhausted than I’d been originally. My eyelids drooped and my legs were stiff as I stumbled to the phone I had unplugged in my bedroom. I managed reconnect it, but I had missed the call. I stretched the muscles in my back and neck as I went to check the answering machine.

  “Ella. Ella, are you there? Pick up.” Gabriel’s voice was hushed, yet had a sense of urgency in it. He gave an impatient sigh. “If you don’t call me in the next five minutes I'm coming over.”

  His anxiety put me on edge. Something had happened. I quickly dialed his number and by the fourth ring I had half talked myself into going down to the police station.

  “Troy,” he answered briskly just before his voicemail picked up, startling me.

  “Hey. Sorry I missed your call.”

  “Are you home? Are you ok?”

  “Yeah, I was sleeping.”

  “Ella, something’s happened.” His voice was very quiet and a little hard to hear.

  “Okay
...”

  I waited for news, bracing myself for the worst. The receiver hummed an uncomfortable silence in my ear, before he said, “I can’t tell you. I shouldn't have called—I'm interfering in an investigation.”

  “What?! What investigation? You can’t set me up like this and not tell me. What's going on?” My questions were followed by more silence. “I'm coming to the station if you don't tell me.”

  “Turn on your television to a local channel.”

  “Why? What's going on?”

  “Jesus! Just do it—for once do something without questioning it.”

  I did as he said, flipping on the TV. At first, all I found were commercials, then the local news interrupted my regularly scheduled programming with a breaking story. A reporter stood in front of a blurred out house, officers and paramedics swarming the yard behind her. She didn’t have many details, but that didn’t stop her from repeating what she knew over and over again as if it were new information.

  She knew there had been an incident, but was unclear on whether the person had died or was badly injured. She was also unclear about the circumstances of the crime. Watching the events unfold reminded me a lot of Danny’s death, the silent ambulance lingering outside squashing all hopes of survival. Why did Gabriel want me to see this?

  “Okay, so someone was killed. Why is this important to me? I don’t mean to sound cold—it’s terrible and all, but—”

  “Look at the house.”

  I took a closer look. It seemed familiar, but without a clearer picture, it was hard to distinguish from any other house in a number of the neighborhoods in this town. My eyes narrowed and I leaned closer to the TV, trying to see what I was missing. Something small caught my eye—something that would have been easily overlooked had I not been studying the screen so intently: a pair of garden gnomes. I had helped pick them out. I had helped paint them. I knew the house....

  “Oh God.” My hand instinctively covered my mouth.

  “Do you understand now?”

  “Susan or Doug? Why didn’t you just tell me?” Again my question was met with silence. My stomach churned.

  “It’s reminiscent of your husband’s homicide. I can’t give you any more information. I shouldn’t have called.”

  “Are you saying I'm a suspect?”

  “I don’t know for sure—if it was my investigation you would be.”

  “Why isn’t it yours?”

  “I'm too close. I knew the victim and you … I couldn’t remain impartial.” Gabriel’s voice suddenly became even more muffled. “They know nothing about the affair. If anyone questions, tell them nothing and call your attorney.”

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Almost anything, no matter how innocent it seems, can be used to strengthen a case.”

  “Was it Doug or Susan?”

  “Susan,” he said in barely a whisper. I had to sit down; my legs would no longer support me. I’d been so angry with her the night before. Now, yesterday seemed like years ago. I would have never wished this on her, no matter how angry I was. I understood why Gabriel was advising me to do nothing and say even less. My position was getting worse by the second. Of course I should be a suspect. I had motive and opportunity. I was the last one to see her last night. Two horrific homicides in the last twenty years in this town and I was at the center of both of them. I would be surprised if the people didn’t come after me with the pitchforks and torches I had joked about earlier.

  “How did it happen?” My voice softening to match his.

  “I'll talk to you later. Now’s no good.”

  “You don’t think I did this ... do you?”

  “No. I was with you last night. You didn’t have time to do anything like this—it would’ve taken hours.”

  “That’s the only reason?” Gabriel sighed, but I continued, “Why can’t I tell the truth? I don't feel right about hiding anything.”

  “It isn’t going to look good. This … this doesn’t happen in this town. Now it’s happened twice, to two people who were close to you. You write novels about killing people, extremely well thought out novels. Does any of this sound good to you?” I could almost hear him mentally counting to ten. “You don’t have anything to hide, just get a lawyer to make sure your rights are protected.”

  “Have you seen Doug? He must be ... It's so hard...”

  “No, I'm not sure about their progress on that. I know he wasn’t in the house, and he didn’t call in the murder. Someone was sent to the store to find him.”

  “I don’t envy that person.”

  “I really need to go. I’ll talk with you later.”

  “Okay.” I hung up the phone and headed for the kitchen, needing to be busy doing something, anything. I’d just put on a kettle to make tea when the phone rang again. I rushed to answer in case it was Gabriel maybe he’d found out something new. Or forgotten something. I heard nothing on the other end except breathing. Heavy breathing. I placed the phone back in it cradle, goose bumps climbing up my arms and down my spine. The phone rang again. I slowly picked up the receiver, this time not saying hello. There was a voice.

  “Get out of the house. He's in your house.” Static hissed at me.

  I slammed the receiver down and backed against the wall. Should I believe the voice? My mind spun as I stood unable to convince my legs to move. Who was in my house? Who was calling me? Was this trick to lure me out? I was stuck in a wave of helpless panic. I could feel myself succumbing to the emotional undercurrent of the events. Susan’s death had impacted me deeply despite my anger. It drummed up so many emotions. New and old. Memories only recently suppressed, a new string of regrets and doubts began to wind around my heart and mind. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could continue to stand, but I fought to keep the grasp I’d recently gotten on my world. Letting myself slip, as I so easily and often did, was not a choice this time. I was close to the truth, closer now than I'd ever been, I could feel it. I had to be strong, if not for myself, then for everyone else. I took a few deep breaths.

  A chiming noise echoed through the house. My mind leapt to the idea that it could be a ghostly echo of some sort because I didn’t have any clocks that chimed—then a loud official sounding knock came from the front door and I realized what the chime was. Walking slowly towards the door, knowing it would be the police coming to break the news to me so they could see my reaction, I tried to collect myself and make my face blank of emotion. The knocking impatiently persisted.

  I opened the door to two men dressed in suits and cheap sunglasses. The thought struck me that they were dressed as someone who watched too much TV would dress if they were pretending to be a cop, almost like children on Halloween. Something about the way they wore their clothes that didn’t fit. I didn’t say anything to them and I didn’t open the screen door that they’d let close after knocking. Instead, I lifted an eyebrow, knowing full well I didn’t have a reputation for being friendly—why disappoint them? I waited for them to speak.

  “Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ella Reynolds.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am Officer Jones and this is Officer Winn. May we come in ma’am?”

  “Why not?” I motioned them in. Given that last phone call, I was glad they were there, even if it meant I was a likely suspect. I led them into the living room inviting them to take a seat on the uncomfortable furniture and again waited for someone to take the lead.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, can you tell us your whereabouts last night?”

  “Of course I can.” The officers looked at me expectantly, but I just looked back at them.

  “And where were you?”

  “Let’s not play games. You're here about the Daniels, yes?” The officers exchanged a glance as if I had given away some important detail.

  “You know of the situation with Mrs. Daniels?”

  “It was Susan?” I asked quietly pretending this was the first I had heard of it. “I was watchin
g television this morning.” My voice cracked as I choked back real emotion.

  “The names were not released.”

  “I recognized the house, more specifically the lawn gnomes.” They both nodded and I could see the wheels turning behind their eyes, processing everything I said to use against me later. They dealt with the disappointment of not getting to break the news to me admirably well. The detective in the ugly yellow tie was the first to move on with the questioning.

  “And your whereabouts last night?”

  “As I'm sure you are aware, I was here. I had dinner with Susan and Doug, which is probably why you’re questioning me now.”

  “What time did they leave your house?”

  “Doug left around nine or nine thirty—he had inventory to do. Susan left around ten, she took a cab.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  If the situation hadn’t been so tragic I would have smiled at how they could believe anyone would tripped up by this painfully obvious line of questions. The detectives in my books would never be this stupid, with their weak obvious questions.

  “I cleared the dishes, then spoke with Detective Troy on the phone before he stopped by around ten thirty.”

  “And what is your relationship with Detective Troy?”

  Immediately I regretted bringing him up. His words, “They don’t know about the affair,” came back to me. Did he mean Susan and Danny’s affair or was he somehow referring to me and him? I sighed as if the cop’s question annoyed me. “He investigated my husband’s death. Does that qualify as a relationship? We keep in touch. No one was ever caught and I’d like to see it resolved.”

  “Why did he come to your house?”

  “Strange things happen here, I trust him.”

  “Your relationship is purely professional?”

  “We've recently become friends. What does this have to do with Susan? If you have any more questions about the nature of my relationship with Detective Troy, please feel free to ask him.”

  The idiot in the yellow tie held up his hands as if he didn’t mean to pry though that was exactly what he meant to do.

  “What time did Detective Troy leave your house?”

  “This morning,” I said unable to think of a way to dodge this question.

  “He stayed all night?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Why is that?”

  “As I said weird things happen here.”

  “Could you elaborate?”

  “I could give you a hundred examples. Phone calls, hang ups, objects moving, disappearing, reappearing, banging, thumping, crashing, appliances turning off and on, strange files on my computer, do I really need to go on?”

  “What happened last night?”

  “While I can’t speak for Detective Troy, I don't think he believes I'm safe here. Now, I'll answer no more questions in regards to Detective Troy. If you need any more questions answered ask him.”

  “Do you own a car?” The yellow tie detective asked me.

  “Yes, but I don’t have a license. I never learned how drive. It was my late husband’s vehicle.”

  “May we see it?”

  “Absolutely.” I led them to the garage that was separate from the house. The garage hadn’t been opened since Danny had passed away, at least not by me. The only thing in it was the car, which I had no use for. The door was hard to open and the air inside was stale. Everything looked just as it had and it occurred to me I should sell the car, rather than letting it slowly die unattended in my garage.

  “Have you ever driven this car?”

  “No.”

  “Would you mind if we fingerprint it?”

  “Why would you want to do that? Did someone see this car at the house?”

  “We’re eliminating suspects. Other than that I cannot disclose any information about an ongoing investigation.”

  “How does this eliminate me as a suspect? I could have taken a cab or walked.”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Do we have permission to process the car for forensics or should we get a warrant?”

  I didn’t appreciate being strong-armed by anyone, least of all by cop in a bad suit.

  “I don’t think you could get a warrant for this. Please don’t threaten me like I'm ignorant. At the moment, you’re fishing for leads and it seems as if I'm becoming a usual suspect for you people. I don't appreciate the implications,” I snapped.

  Yellow Tie, who appeared to be the leader, gave me a smile that clearly said go to hell and started to leave the garage. Before he made it to the door, I had collected my temper.

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t run forensics on the car.”

  He turned around and looked at me.

  “I have nothing to hide from you. Just don’t treat me like I'm stupid.”

  “You're giving us your permission then?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  The silent one of the two reached for his cell phone as I walked by.

  “Ma’am, we need you to stay with us.”

  “Then you're coming back to the house with me because I am not waiting around here.” The two detectives followed me back into the house. I offered them a drink, which they both declined. I made myself tea as they silently watched. The forensic team arrived. The quiet one took them to the garage as I looked for the keys to the car while the other one watched.

  After a couple hours, most of the police officers had departed from my house leaving me with just the detectives again. They gathered their things and started out the door. Yellow Tie turned around and asked, as if it was an afterthought, “Have you spoken with Mr. Daniels since last night?”

  “No.”

  “If you do, please give us a call.” He handed me a card. I nodded and closed the door behind him. As they drove away I called my lawyer in Chicago and left a message. I wasn’t looking forward to the media circus that would ensue once the press found out I was once again suspect number one.

  Caught between sleepiness and stress I felt like a time bomb ready to go off at any moment. I wanted to cut and run. It wasn't worth all the pain and regret—why did people keep dying around me? I needed to get away from everything. I needed a vacation to an island somewhere. I promised myself a trip to Hawaii, completely stress free as soon as all of this was over. Self-pity started to move in and set up residence again. I sat in the darkening living room, not bothering to turn on the lights, drink in hand.

  I mentally retraced everything that had happened over the last several days. All of the events and clues that I had found or had unfolded over the week took me where? What was the missing piece that connected everything? If Danny was killed by a ghost, Susan’s death made no sense at all—she wasn’t even in the house. But what motive could someone have for harming her and Danny similarly? The only person with a motive was me, and I was certain I didn't do it.

  I stayed in my contemplative state until I heard another knock on the door. I hoped it was Gabriel, but no such luck. When I answered the door, I was irritated to see Mr. Sexton standing in front of me.

  “What do you want?”

  “I saw the cops messing about all day. Did they make an arrest?”

  “If they did, would I be here? Look, I don’t really have time for this.” I started to close the door.

  “Not you, you stupid bitch—that guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “The one I told that other cop that hangs around here about. He told me to call him if I saw the man again, but I lost his number. Anyway, I saw him just this morning before the police showed up, but they wouldn’t let me anywhere near to tell ‘em.”

  “Wait, what, pardon? You’ve been seeing a man outside my house and didn’t bother to tell me? ”

  “I told the copper. What the hell would you do about it, girlie?”

  I didn’t have energy to fight with Mr. Sexton. “Next time you see him I’d appreciate knowing.” Then something occurred to me. “Are you the one who’s be
en calling me?”

  “Your copper accused me of that same thing—said I'm not to talk to you at all.” He looked around, suddenly nervous, as if Gabriel would appear at any moment, and started to back off the porch.

  “Listen, Mr. Sexton—that was a misunderstanding. Call me if you see anything,” I said as he walked away his eyes darting back and forth.

  I returned to my dark living room with something new to think about. I was cold and vulnerable, but I was in the process of developing a theory. Why didn’t Gabriel tell me about the man Mr. Sexton saw? Why keep that a secret? And why did he stop by my house so frequently even when I was rude to him? What made Mr. Sexton so jumpy? Why did all the evidence and clues we found only show up when he was here? It was a theory I couldn't take lightly, one that would hurt Gabriel regardless of whether or not I was right or wrong if I exposed it. I needed confirmation, but how could I get it without cluing Gabriel in on what I was thinking—which would either hurt him or be very dangerous for me.

  Movement in the doorway caught my eye. It was Gabriel looming in the entrance, the backlight making him appear huge and ominous.

  “I was thinking about you,” I said quietly, not making a quick movement.

  “Funny how that works,” he responded in a tired voice, walking in and loosening his tie. He plopped down onto the ottoman in front of my chair.

  “Before I forget to tell you, I mentioned I was with you last night. I didn't think about it until after I said it. Did I get you in trouble?”

  “Don’t worry, I would have told them even if you hadn’t. How are you holding up? ”

  “You know, moment by moment. I am becoming a pro at this. ” I couldn't even muster up a wry smile to go with my words.

  “I heard you were a handful.” He said a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

  “That guy in a yellow tie is an asshole.”

  “Detective Jones,” Gabriel said knowingly. “I heard you let him have it once or twice. That’s good, he can be a bully. Did you call a lawyer?”

  “Yeah, after they left.”

  “Christ, Ella.”

  “I have nothing to hide. Who cares if they take Danny’s car?”

  “That isn’t the point. If they're trying to make a case against you, you shouldn’t help them. Did you tell them about the affair?”

  “No. That would give them motive and they didn’t ask.”

  “Not only for you, for Doug too.”

  “Doug doesn’t know about it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. Susan said he didn’t—and she begged me not to tell him. If he did know about it all along, why would he wait so long?” I rubbed my eyes with my fists. “So now you think I should have told them?”

  “I'm torn about this. As a cop, yes, you should have told them. They need all the facts to solve the case. As your—friend, it's better for you if they don't know”

  “God, it’s so surreal that just last night we were fighting in here.” I could see Gabriel searching my eyes for signs that I was going to break and fall apart at any moment. “You know, I’m okay. You don't have to stay with me if it's getting you in trouble. I understand.”

  “Why do you keep trying to make me leave? You know you may be next on what could be a very short list. You don’t have that many people in your life. Is there even someone else that could stay here with you? Think of me as protective custody.”

  “Well, maybe if you leave that list will stay short and I won’t have to worry about you making it onto it,” I said even though I knew he was right, I didn’t have anyone else. However, at the moment I couldn’t be sure I had him either. “Speaking of protective custody, did Mr. Sexton tell you he’d seen a man around my house?”

  “Yeah. I checked it out. He was probably lying, giving me a bullshit reason to be on your property. He couldn't give me any details in his description and when I started questioning him his story began to fall apart. I told him to call me instead of investigating it himself. I also said he shouldn’t speak to you being that he doesn’t know how to be anything besides belligerent—”

  “And you chose not to tell me?”

  “Tell you what? Unsubstantiated stories from a crazy old man? If I had, would that have made you feel better? To think that there is a psychotic man wondering around in your backyard? You have enough to deal with.”

  “If someone is creeping around my house I want to know! I have a right to know.”

  “Have you seen someone?”

  “No, but I see the effects of it every day.”

  “Exactly, this changes nothing. What's the difference in letting you think it's a ghost or making you believe there's a person? Besides, he hasn’t called me even once about it.”

  “He said he lost your number.” Saying this aloud to Gabriel made me realize how weak the excused actually seemed.

  “So he lost my number and he’s bothering you again. Convenient. My guess is that he’s bored. This man is a piece of work.”

  “He said he saw the man this morning—and I received some weird phone calls after I spoke to you. One was just breathing, the other told me to get out, that ‘He was in the house.’”

  “Do you believe him? Was he telling the truth or trying to scare you?”

  “Why would he want to do that?”

  “Why did he ever want to bother you? I don’t think the guy’s playing with a full deck.”

  I knew he was right, but I wanted so much to believe that we had real proof that some evil man was behind all of this that I clung to my last shred of hope. “What if he’s telling the truth? Couldn’t it be worth pursuing? Sexton wasn’t creepy or mean when he told me this. Maybe, just maybe, there is something here. What could hurt?” I smiled the most charming smile I could muster at the moment.

  “Can we at least postpone it ‘til tomorrow?” he asked defeated.

  “I’m sorry. I know you’ve had a bad day too.”

  His head sagged between his shoulders as he rested his forearms across his knees, and I watched him, unable to sort out my feelings. I was a walking contradiction when it came to Gabriel. At this moment he looked so helpless, so in need of someone much stronger than me—yet I wanted to be that person. I placed my hand on his arm, making a connection. He looked back at me; the air between us grew heavier with each second the gaze lasted.

  I had the feeling that neither of us had anyone else in the world. He was definitely my last connection to the world outside of this house. We were there for each other with no need of words or ties. We were bound to each other by kindred spirits, these horrible crimes, and feelings that were too complicated for definition.

  I pulled him towards myself, resting my head against the top of his. I wasn't sure how much comfort I could offer, but I would try. His arms wrapped around me and mine around him. We drifted to sleep our breath in time.

  Chapter Fourteen