Alex
October 21, 2017
It’s just after ten in the morning. Eli wouldn’t let me go home without him. We didn’t get home until late and stayed at the Malcomb Place last night.
The frenzy that had begun after we found the eyeball blew up, especially after we dug up the massacre that lay quietly underneath the soft blanket of snow and shrubbery. Eli had thought that the only thing human was the eyeball. I had thrown up right there.
The brutality had been cold, calculated. It was as if the one who had committed the act knew we’d find it. Like he or she had been watching us. For all we knew, in that moment, he could have very well been watching us. It was so unnerving.
I can see now why Eli has had a hard time allowing me out of his sight. Why he sent for officers to keep an eye out for me at the Malcomb Place.
Just like the officer who is sitting outside the house now as I come back down to my feet after looking out of the peephole. I open the door and take some coffee out to the rookie police officer.
“Thank you, Ms. Fisher,” the young Granite Harbor officer says from inside his SUV.
“Do you want breakfast, Officer Lent?” I ask.
He lifts his lunch bag. “No, all set. The wife wouldn’t let me leave the house this morning without an earful and a bellyful.” He pauses. “But there is one thing.” He’s hesitant.
The jacket I grabbed clearly isn’t cutting it as my teeth begin to chatter.
“Can you sign this? My wife is a huge fan.” He hands me It Ends, one of the first books I ever wrote.
I take it. “Of c-c-course.” I ask him what his wife’s name is, sign it, and hand it back.
“Thank you, Ms. Fisher. It’s not normal to have a famous writer in our little town, so I appreciate it. My wife really appreciates it.”
“It’s just Alex, Office Lent. Just Alex. Please don’t call me famous.”
He nods. “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” And I run-walk back inside before I freeze to death.
Eli took Rookie this morning to go back on the scene to help the State Police. I wonder how game wardens survive on lack of sleep. How they perform their jobs to the best of their ability when doing late-night poacher stings, undercover work, or answering calls at one in the morning for a wandering bear. I guess it would be the same as another law enforcement job, but still, it is grueling. Working in the snow. Working on fragile ice when someone has fallen through after being stupid on a snowmobile.
I have decided to get some writing done for most of the day. Eli didn’t feel it would be a good idea for me to be on the scene, and quite frankly, I prefer to be home. Yesterday was a lot to take in.
We should have a confirmation on the DNA of the eyeball sometime later today, and I shudder, thinking about the person who lost it. But I don’t think it’s a case of someone losing an eye. It was taken. And this thought makes my stomach turn.
I take my coffee and go sit in front of the blazing fire that Eli started before he left and watch the snow as it compounds outside, making it hard to see out over the ocean.
Before I dig in, I make a call to my mother and explain what’s going on.
“I told you, Mom. Serial killers are everywhere.”
She gasps. “Alexandra, that is not funny.”
I laugh. “Mom, I’m kidding. Who would have known this would happen? I’m kidding. Come on.”
Silence on the other end.
“Mom?”
I hear a sniffle.
“Mom? Are you crying? Again? Mom, you don’t cry. What the hell?”
“I just … I just … your laugh. It’s back, Gidget, and it’s so genuine. I’m happy; that’s all.”
We talk for almost forty-five minutes, and then she hands the phone over to my dad, who I fill in on our adventure to Boston and the game. And I have to repeat the story again because he’s already forgotten some pieces. He calls me Meredith twice.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, Gidget.”
“Can you put Mom back on the phone?”
“Sure. Hey, when you come home, we can put the entertainment center together. It’s in your garage, right?”
My heart sinks. “Yeah, Dad. Absolutely. When I get home.”
My mom sighs before she speaks, “Hey, babe.”
“He’s getting worse, Mom.”
“He’s fine.”
“Mom, I need to get home. He’s gotten worse in the weeks I’ve been gone.”
“Gidget, don’t worry. We’re all right. Enjoy your time and come home when it’s right.”
“November 7. That’s my return flight.”
“Great.”
Worry begins to seep in. “I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, baby girl.”
I set my phone down, pour another cup of coffee, and pad off to the bathroom to shower.
My phone chimes almost immediately. I smile. It’s Eli.
Eli: Good morning, beautiful. How is your morning?
My insides fill with color and love, and my stomach swirls into butterflies.
Me: Not the same without you. ;) Just poured myself another cup of coffee, ready to jump in the shower. You?
Eli: You can’t say things like that when I’m working.
Me: What got to you? The coffee? ;)
Eli: You have no idea. ;) I’ll probably be home late tonight.
Me: I’ll wait.
Eli: Remember how to keep the fire going?
Me: I do. Listen, I might be from California, but I know how to keep things hot. ;)
Eli: That was an awful line. I would highly suggest you not use that in your books. ;)
Me: Noted, Warden Young. Be safe. <3
Eli: Hey, Alex?
Me: Yeah?
Eli: I love you.
Me: I love you. <3
I jump in the shower and get dressed in warm layers. I take my now-lukewarm coffee and put it in the microwave. I watch as the snow falls outside. So peaceful. There’s a calm that comes over me. One I haven’t felt in an awfully long time. But also, there’s an unnerving feeling that someone is out there, knows who I am, and killing animals.
Keep your mind busy, Alex.
I push the thought out of my mind. I go to grab my laptop.
Shit. I forgot it at Eli’s. Shit. Shit. Shit. I can drive and get it, right? How hard is it to drive in the snow?
I watch as the large flakes fall rather quickly.
Questions I ask myself:
Have you driven in the snow before?
How do you brake?
What about ice?
How fast do you go?
I don’t dare text Eli. I don’t want him to worry about me driving in the snow. Besides, I can handle this. If we ever decide to live here—together—I need to learn how to do this.
What about snow tires? Do I need those?
Also, I’ll need to bribe Officer Lent out front. Forewarn him. If he says anything about me leaving to Eli, I will revoke his coffee privileges when he has to babysit for as long as I’m in Granite Harbor.
Or I could have him drive me?
Yes.
Great thinking, Alex!
I bundle up in an oversize coat I found in the front closet that smells of a woman’s expensive perfume. I grab my keys to the Malcomb Place and the leftover cinnamon rolls in a Tupperware bowl after I’ve put them in the microwave for thirty seconds, and then I set out for the bribery I’m about to pour down on Officer Lent.
The cold blast hits me like knives. I put my head down, barrel through the arctic for seventeen seconds, and climb through the passenger door of the patrol car.
“How do you guys survive here?” I start.
Officer Lent smiles. “Seriously, this is nothing. This isn’t even winter yet, Alex.” He eyes the cinnamon rolls. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll just run in and grab my computer really quick, James.” I look back at him.
He can’t wait to tear into the treat of doughy goodness. We’re on a first-name basis solely due to my ego. I explained to the twenty-something police officer that, when he calls me Ms. Fisher, it makes me feel old. When he calls me famous author, it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
“Careful of the arctic blast,” he says with a mouthful and a sarcastic smile.
“You aren’t funny.” I open the door and brace for the chill.
I must admit, it’s weird, being at Eli’s house when he doesn’t know I’m coming. Feels a bit like an intrusion of privacy. Guilt begins to build somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
Your motives are good, Alex. You aren’t telling him because you don’t want him to worry about you. Besides, you’re just grabbing your laptop. What could go wrong?
There’s an unfamiliar car parked at the side of the house. Maybe it’s Merit. Or Eli’s dad.
I scurry to the porch and let out a loud breath. “God, it’s cold.”
I go to grab the hidden key Eli showed me last week from under a floorboard on the porch, but it’s gone.
“Shit!” I reach for the doorknob, praying the door’s unlocked.
It is. A tinge of fear starts to permeate in my gut, slowly making its way up to my mouth.
I swallow as the door glides open. “Hello?” I call out.
I look back at Officer Lent, who’s still feeding on his bribery.
Shutting the door behind me, I call out again. “Hello?”
There’s no answer. Quietly stepping across the living room, I see my laptop sitting on the kitchen table where I left it. When I quickly walk to grab it, movement in the kitchen catches my eye, and I jump back.
She screams.
She.
A housekeeper?
Her hair is wet.
She’s just showered.
She’s beautiful.
Blonde.
Blue eyes.
Thin.
She pulls out a set of earbuds, and I can tell by the look on her face that she’s just as surprised to see me.
“Who … who the fuck are you?”
I can’t speak, still trying to rationalize why she’s here and what she’s doing in Eli’s kitchen.
“Who are you?” I grab my laptop in case she makes a move and hold it to my chest.
Maybe she’s a squatter? Do they have those in Maine? No, no. She looks too pretty, too perfect, to be a squatter.
“I’m Eli’s wife.”
There’s a space of time where your heart tries to reason with your brain. Tries to convince your brain that there’s a perfectly rational explanation for what you’re seeing and hearing.
You’re being punked. It’s a joke.
It’s all a dream. You’ll wake up soon.
A figment of your imagination, I lie to myself.
All of these seemingly valid excuses, when reflected on later, make no sense, but in the moment, you want to believe them so bad that you begin to believe them.
“His what?” I try to back up. My legs are like jelly.
“Wife. Who are you?” She takes a step forward.
“The housekeeper.” Because I cannot contend with the title of wife. I cannot contend with sworn words, such as death do us part.
Bile begins to build in my throat as I turn and leave the way that I came.
I take all my things and shove them in my bag, tears wanting to push themselves down my face, trying to believe what just happened.
You will not cry over this. You knew something like this would happen, Alex. Don’t be stupid.
I convinced Officer Lent to take me back to Malcomb Place to pack my things. Explained to him that he needed to take me to the airport in Portland, that there’d been a family emergency in California, because explaining the truth would have been too complicated, too hard, too raw. I tried to pay him to take back my Tahoe, but he wouldn’t take my money. Told me that small-town people don’t take money to help others. This I already knew.
I thank him as he drops me off at Portland International.
With no plane ticket, no way out of Maine until the storm lifts, I pull my bag into the airport, no longer feeling the winter weather, numb. I find three hotels within a short distance and book a room under an alias, so Eli won’t come find me. He’s a game warden. I know, with his charm and his extremely good looks, he’d be able to captivate the front desk staff into giving my information—if he felt the need to come find me.
What was her name?
I didn’t ask her name.
But I guess she already had a name—Eli’s wife.