James Story lowered his coffee cup to the table, with a far-away look in his eye. It is the kind of look a husband gets whenever he replays an incident from his marriage.
Did I handle it right?
What could I have done differently?
Rachel was beautiful and there was no denying it, but James had trouble seeing her beauty these days.
The sound of the cup touching down on the table bounced off the granite countertop and hung in the air, like a cloud of reverberation suspended in the kitchen. The air was thick, and James felt like every movement was filled with the effort of dozens of men.
He listened as the sound around him lost its integrity and faded like confetti dripping to the floor.
“What is it?” he said. There was no one to answer.
In time past, time which now feels very long ago, the beautiful Rachel would answer. She would pop in the room unexpectedly, and with her bright smile and dancing green eyes, she would shoot out an answer to any question. If she did not know the answer she would make something up, and it would be funny. It might even be hilarious, and she and James would laugh and laugh.
The tears of joy running down their faces would merge together as they embraced cheek to cheek. She always made him laugh. She always had.
She always had done a lot of things until one day. That one day which everyone has in one form or another, but nobody likes to admit. The one day which comes demanding all the attention and offering nothing in return.
It comes taking, not begging. It comes demanding not asking. It comes changing, not building; and it comes tearing down, not reconciling.
It was that one day.
“What is it?“ he asked again. Something was bothering him now, but it was like a gnat which keeps flying by his forehead. It was like when they had made love, and one of the long dark hairs from her head would break off in his mouth. He knew it was there, but could not quite get it.
This being his only afternoon free in the last three weeks only added to his mounting frustration. He had time to himself, but he was being pried with a mystery he had no wish to engage. Still it snapped at him, like a pack of ravenous wolves, circling their prey until they could make the kill.
“Well,” he said, his voice more sigh than statement. “I hope Jennie is having fun, at least.”
He had dropped their daughter off at her best friend’s birthday party. Jennie loved Beth like she was a sister, and she had looked so forward to Beth’s birthday party. Jennie helped Beth’s mom make decorations and managed to keep the bulk of the celebration a surprise.
Jennie had probably been affected most of all, James thought. She had witnessed 12 years of it, after all, and she had been the victim in at least 2 instances he knew of.
Two instances I know of, he thought. Were there more? His stomach soured with the thought.
“My girl,” he said. If it had been physical it might even be better. At least then the damage would have been seen and something could have been done sooner. As it was, no one knew until it was too late.
Too late! He thought; it was too late when it happened. No, being able to see it would not have made it better. There is nothing which would make it better. It should have never happened.
Did I handle it right?
What should I have done?
I didn’t do it, James thought. She did. Rachel made the choices she made, not me!
Still, I feel responsible. Maybe I really am, and I’m just kidding myself.
I do love her.
I still love her. It is much more difficult to see her beauty now, but I still love her. I want her to be ok; I wish she was ok, but she’s not. She probably never will be.
No, that will never happen, not now. I betrayed her trust, and she will never forgive me, even if she ever comes to a point where she can.
I know the string of obscenities and threats she yelled that horrible day were not really her talking. They still hurt, and I cannot let her be around Jennie no matter what.
What was it? What kept nagging him?
He once agin went through his mental checklist.
The familiar chime on his computer sounded, indicating a new email had arrived. James spun the laptop around on the cold surface and gently touched the trackpad with his index finger, the mouse arrow responding instantly to his movements.
The afternoon sunlight cut across the screen at a flat angle highlighting the dusty surface of the laptop’s screen and making visibility difficult.
James adjusted his angle so the shade provided cover.
“That’s it,” he said out loud. The cover was missing from the trash cans when he puled in the garage earlier. They had not gone missing since – since that day; since the day Rachel had left, or been taken, rather.
“Why were they missing today?”
He started to go to check the garage, but the urge to check his newly arrived email tugged at him, like the anchor off the bow of a boat. Rachel had always told him he was too tied to that infernal machine, and he needed to take a break. This thought only made him want to check the email more. It was not rebellion, he now realized.
It was fear.
His hands flew over the keyboard and trackpad, as he click opened his email client program and typed in his username and password. Double authentication popped up, prompting him a mild curse under his breath.
“Just open, will you?”
The email window sprang to life, enlarging from the center of the screen to fill the his view to the edges. There it was, the new email, and it was from her.
“How did she send an email from the…” His voice trailed off, as he looked at the content in the preview window. It said simply:
“Have you checked the children?”
The creepy line from that creepy babysitter movie from so long ago. The murderer had used that line to scare the babysitter, hoping to get her to go upstairs because he was in the …
James’s thoughts stopped. The killer had been in the house. That creepy line had meant he was in the house.
He swung his head back and forth, and he listened for anything which might indicate movement. He heard nothing.
He moved into the family room, where he had left the TV on. As he walked through the room, there was a breaking news bulletin, and he stopped so quickly his loafers made a slight speak on the hardwood floors. He needed to hear this. He did not know why he need to hear it, but he was sure he had to hear it.
The talking head, along with the scrolling banner across the screen’s bottom section indicated there had been a murder and inmate break out at, at where?
It was from Pleasant Valley Home and Sanitarium.
“No,” he said.
“Hello, James,” Rachel said.