Love

I’m a bit confused.

Four words, hardly an explanation. More of a statement. Either way, Lance wasn’t at all enthralled with the discovery.
The call came out at around 11:45pm for suspicious behavior at Northdell Curve in Aldon; Lance knew the area had a fairly solid reputation for law abiding activity so the sergeant’s initial thought was to get Clark and Denton on the scene with double priority. It was probably an over reaction, but Lance wasn’t interested in taking risks. The night had been uneventful up to the point of the lady’s whispering voice that crackled through his desk phone. It was obvious that she was in distress, but she was trying to speak as calmly as she could manage. He could sense a degree of panic in the under tone of her voice as if she was on the verge of crumbling.

Lance had his knuckle’s firmly imprinted into the side of his cheek when the telephone beeped into life causing him to flick his head upright and bite the edge of his tongue. He wanted to swear into the receiver but exhaled heavily and forced himself to answer with regular police politeness.

“Rodgrove Police Station, this is Lance Norman. How may I help?” He could taste sour blood when he licked his lips.

“Yes, hello. I’m just calling to, well it’s probably nothing but I thought it was best to let some one know that I’m quite sure I heard some screams near by. It sounded like a girl. I didn’t want to have a look so I thought I’d just ring you to let you know.”

Lance pinched his nose bridge and looked at the clock on his desk. “You did the right thing, ma’am. Name and address please.”

“Jean Sanders. I live at Northdell Curve, number 18. Near the Seven Eleven. You know the place? I think it would be a good idea if maybe you sent some one over here. I’m by myself. It’s probably nothing but I just think –“

“I understand. We’ll be dispatching a patrol car in that area as soon as possible.” Lance knew it wouldn’t take any longer than ten minutes to get Clark and Denton out there; Tuesday nights always leaves those two bored out their minds and itching for some action.

“Thank you officer.” Jean cleared her throat and coughed loudly into the mouth piece.

“Just keep tight, lock your doors and windows if you feel it necessary. We’ll take care of the situation.” Lance smiled as if talking to Jean in person. He could picture her in his mind. Mid to late forties but acts as few years ahead of herself. Well dressed, well spoken. Divorced due to a husband being several years late home from work. No children. That was a definite. There was something uncertain about her voice, something empty. Perhaps it was love. Lance wasn’t sure why, he was just sure.
He was also sure that she was jumping to conclusions about getting herself all wound up over a scream that was probably nothing but a misheard cat fight.

You’re the one jumping to conclusions, pal. He thought as he punched some numbers into the local radio. It’s you who’s making all the marks about the lady on the phone. And for what reason? Lance ignored his thoughts and squeezed the soft panel, waiting for transmission static. He was hoping Clark and Denton would be close by; he wanted to put dear Jean out of her worried fit.
It took a few seconds before Denton’s rusty voice became audible.

“What’s up, chief?” he asked.

“Denton, I need you and Clark to head down to Northdell Curve as quick as you can. A lady called a 223.”

“Northdell? Sounds interesting. Not much happens around there. We’ll be there in twenty five.”

Lance thought about Jean, the way her voice trembled over the phone. That raw emptiness.

Love? He thought.

“Make it fifteen. I’m on my way now.”

Lance clicked the radio off and stood up, making his chair scratch the tile surface of the floor which gave him goose bumps. He felt a tinge of guilt about making blind judgments on the women, as if he had somehow trespassed on her dignity without actually meeting her.

You just think you know her, his mind whispered as he snapped the door lock into place and walked out of the station, her voice reminds you of Jennifer.

Outside, the clouds were lumpy silhouettes outlined by moonlight. They looked like giant mountains in the sky. As Lance made his way over to the squad car he was having difficulty getting rid of the mental image of his deceased wife that now stained his mind.

“Jennifer’s gone.” He said quietly, surprising himself. His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and he squeezed it gently. Concentrating only on his breathing, Lance closed his eyes and saw his wife sitting in the living room with her legs crossed. A ribbon of hair sat neatly at the tip of her nose that made her flinch and smile. Strips of molten sunlight protruded the closed curtains and he could see specs of dust float and twirl in all directions.
Jennifer knew of his presence but didn’t look at him. She was content yet appeared strangely occupied with other unforeseen matters.

“The birds were singing,” Lance said between lips half closed. His chest felt heavy and his words were wet. The insides of his palms began to throb which brought him back to the task at hand. His grip was still firm over the steering wheel as the engine kicked into life and the headlights flooded the street with illumination.

A minute after he had left the car park and headed east to the 223 at Northdell, his mind was completely clear of haunted memories and fixed onto the possibility of a girl in trouble.
Lance hoped that it was just a cat fight, for the sake of the women caller as well as for him. A domestic dispute was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight.
“A cat fight.” He grinned. and felt slightly better.
But instinct told him otherwise.

***

Lonesome

I made the decision to quit quitting to smoke about eight months back. After a while, attempting to drop the nasty habit really began to get at me. I would make flimsy New Year resolutions and self promises that always fell through, and eventually I realized the fact that I would always remain a slave to the brown leaf. A loser attitude? Not really, more of a brutal acceptance.
Non-smokers die every day, don’t they? So what’s the difference? Besides, sitting on the balcony chair watching the dull haze of the street lights burn with a cigarette between my two fingers is a comforting pleasure for me.

Indulging in the company of others never struck my fancy, not even when I was a little girl, and as I’ve grown older I’ve become more unplugged with my social surroundings.
Just lately however (and this might sound darn crazy) I feel as if I have made a connection with one of my cats. I own seven, and as soon as I say that people will immediately come to the brash conclusion that I am one of those stereotyped “crazed” cat ladies. I can tell you now that is a fabrication, sorry to disappoint. I keep felines as my pets because they are a beautiful, clean, friendly animals who hold no judgments or grudges. Even if they did, it’s hardly plausible for them to voice their opinions.

I named her Lonesome, and she was my only company this evening. She was always detached from the other cats; not wanting to mingle or involve herself in any way and I liked that.

It was the quiet part of the night and my dinner plate had only scraps of chicken skin and slops of gravy remaining. My belly was full and I was well satisfied, but the news on television was giving me the blues. Nothing really out of the ordinary; a man was found with a lot of recreational drugs in his hide out on the Southside, the town’s mayor was running a new campaign to promote employment of under – privileged civilians, and a jogger had stumbled across a smelly old suitcase at the bottom of a bridge which contained quite a gruesome surprise. Two legs, an arm, and the “altered” remains of a women’s torso. This was the second little human package found in three weeks, and the people of Lerston wanted answers.
Sure, this news was downing enough for my spirits, but what really dampened the fire was the news reporter. He had almost identical facial features of my late husband, Richard. Poor old Richard, The Big C had a strangle hold over his liver and lugs and just wouldn’t let go, no matter how hard he fought.
He wasn’t a fallen soldier in the tobacco war either, in fact he never smoked a single cigarette in his life. It’s unfortunate how things like that happen to people. Here I am, smoking a near pack in a twelve hour day and all I get is a little rough cough now and then. I guess I’ll have mine coming, but you know what? I really don’t care. Bring it on, that’s all I can say.

As I sat on my chair with my cigarette tip glowing and dripping frail ash, all I could think about was that news reporter. I could feel Lonesome’s moist nose tap the inside of my leg which served as a convenient distraction.
I emptied my lungs of smoke and watched the pail tendrils drift into the air and vanish. A strong feeling of envy came over me at that point; I often wished it was me who would drift and disappear. Perhaps that’s the reason I have such trouble kicking the death sticks. Lonesome didn’t seem to be phased by the poisonous smoke that soon enveloped us both as she sat awkwardly into the crest of my lap. I stroked the middle of her head until her ears went flat and a purr vibrated from her throat.
It was just us, Lonesome and I, as well as my ticket out of this world resting in the middle of two fingers.

Then there was the scream. At first it startled me into jerking upright and throwing Lonesome into a confused bundle on the ground. Her yellow eyes lit up like the inside of two frying eggs as she gazed at me with fierce aggression. Part of me wasn’t exactly sure that it even was a scream, but something inside me was making it very clear that it very much was a girl in distress. A girl in serious trouble. It was this part that prompted me to make haste into the dining room and contact the police. The other part of me didn’t care much for the scream or who it belonged to, but desperately craved human conversation. Even if it were just a brief phone call with a person I’ve never met or intended to meet.
The officer answered quickly, we exchanged small talk and that was that. I hung up the phone and felt oddly fulfilled, as if I were happy that a young girl’s helpless scream connected me to the real world.
When I walked out onto the balcony again, there sat Lonesome with a steady look on her face, almost an expression of interrogation. I giggled and scooped her fragile body into my breast and held her a little too tightly.
I often feel as if Lonesome will be my only true friend until the last gasp of breath escapes my mouth. That’s supposed to make me feel grim but it really doesn’t. I don’t know why.
A loser attitude?
I guess so.

***

Reply


She liked the fact that Robby wore his leather jacket even though the degrees of heat were ticking past the point of bearable. The night was hot, and in the back seat of Robby Webber’s car, she was sure things wouldn’t be cooling down any time soon.
The dim music was playing on the stereo but sounded as if it were a thousand miles away. Everything seemed like that when she was in the company of Robby; that’s one of the many reasons she was so powerfully drawn to him.
He was playing with her pail hands, fiddling with her red fingernails gently and rubbing the inside of her palms because he knew she liked that. Sex was not on the table at their current stage of their relationship because she was (according to Robby’s friends) “one of those wait for the right guy type gals.” Robby wasn’t so happy with that but he played along anyway. Hang in there long enough and something’s gotta give, that was the Webber’s Way Cool motto when it came to dealing with birds like this.

“You’re 19.” He said after a five minute cocoon of silence. “I’m 20. I like you, and you like me. Period. Now I know that you have you morals but I’m just saying that-“

“Robby,” she said, and snatched her hand away from his. “I’ve told you already. Twice. When it’s time it’ll be the right time. That’s what I’m hanging out for ok?”

“How do you know when the right time is? Why can’t it be now? Why couldn’t it have been a month ago?”

She combed her hair with her fingers and stared at the car ceiling as if looking for an answer.
“I don’t know. It’s just not.” She faced him and felt hot prickles of embarrassment rise over her cheeks.

He didn’t reply, just continued to look at her and tried not to smile. He had to be serious if this was going to fly the right way. Chicks loved guys who were serious about the oh-so-touchy issue of intercourse. He had to go about this in a professional manner.

“Let’s play a game.” Robby said without thinking. “It’s called Reply. You heard of it?”

The girl shook her head and touched the centre of her lip with her tongue.

“Thought not. Anyway, here are the rules: I say a word, and you reply with the very first word that springs into your head, get me? It’s pretty simple.”

“Yeah I get you. Who goes first?” she said, and wondered where this game would eventually lead to.
“You do. Coz you’re new to it. Say any word you like.”

“All right…car.”

Robby’s eyebrow raised and his eyes rolled shifted side to side.

“Road.” He said carelessly. “You gotta make it more interesting than that, you know?”

“Your turn.”

“OK. Heart.” He poked her ribs below her left breast and felt the centre bone of her rib cage. It felt like touching thin trutts of bamboo.

She didn’t even need to think about the answer to this one. It was a sweet word and she liked Bobby touching her, just not too much all the time.

“Love.” She said, trying not to whisper.

Bobby brushed the side of her head with the back of his fingers and placed his thumb on her chin.

“Just let me kiss you.” He said, and leaned towards her. He was an inch away from her lips when there was a scurried shuffle of crackling leaves outside the car.
Bobby’s girlfriend tried to scream but gasped soundless air instead. Bobby swung around and pressed his two hands against the glass window and peered into the starless night.

“What the fuck was that?”

“How should I know? A cat? A fucking monster? Don’t ask me.” He said. Another rustle of leaves and a twig snap.

“Go look you asshole.”

“Oh Christ no. Could be that nut who gift wraps those girls in suitcases.”

“Jesus Bobby please don’t say that. Why would you even say that?” Tears were swelling in her eyes and her voice wavered. Bobby squinted against the window that was beginning to mist over with his rapid breathing.
It was silent again. The atmosphere was motionless.

“I think it’s gone, whatever it was.” His eyes remained focused outside for another minute.
Nothing.
Bobby moved his backside along the back seat closer to his girlfriend and smiled.
“There ain’t a reason to be afraid. No one’s out there.”
He began to massage her knee cap with his two fingers.
She took a breath in through her nostrils and held it for a second. Her mouth was dry and tasted like salty perspiration.

“Bobby, do you love me?” She let her breath go and it brushed his fringe across his forehead.
He stopped rubbing her and sat back, folding his arms tightly across his chest. The radio buzzed with a song by the Stones. The one that drones about a girl named Angie.
Robby pinched his nostrils together and fidgeted with his hands. He hated that song; such a morbid testimony to a lost love one.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I just wanna know. Is that such a bad thing? I asked you once before and you ignored me.”

It was happening. Bobby was sure of it. Absolutely positively, no question or query about it. The muscles in his biceps tightened a flexed and he was having trouble controlling his breathing pace.

“Why would you ask me that now?” He managed to say.

“Well why do you think that now is the right time for us to… to do it? Who makes up the right times to do things, Bobby?” Her eyes were glazed over and she was smiling that little nervous smile she always did when under pressure. Her teeth here shiny with saliva.

“Well that just won’t cut it. I’m not talking bout this no more.” He looked away but could see her staring at him from the tail of his eye.

“It’s ok just to let your feelings go sometimes Bobby. It’s ok just to show some one how you really feel-“

“Oh it is?” He snarled. “And you’re a professional are you? It’s all right to show some one how you really feel? That’s just not the facts. It’s not ok!” A rope of saliva hung over his bottom lip and swayed with his jolting head.

The girl with the red fingernails withdrew herself back and her eyes bulged.

“I think I want to go home now.” She said as confidently as possible. “Right now.”

“But don’t you want to know I really feel?” Bobby was saying, but it was that alien feeling all over again. The out of body feeling, as the doctors would call it. His vocal chords, his breathing, his heartbeat were all working by themselves. His entire persona was utterly involuntary.

As the darkness closed in on him, he could hear her scream and wondered for a brief while if some one would hear her. He thought not, she sounded like a cat in pain.

A few yards away from the parked car, two of Jean Sanders’s cats pranced across the sun dried terrain of mixed shrub, crackling leaves and tearing up soft patches of soil.

Colors whirled and mixed in front of Bobby’s eyes as his girlfriend lay silent in front of him. How long had it been this time? It felt like an hour or two, but often it was more.

“Just let me kiss you,” he whispered, and pressed his lips against hers.
This time, she hardly had a say in the matter at all.

***

Jennifer

“If you were to ask me,” Clark was saying, “the jury just won’t buy that as a considerable excuse.”

Lance blinked twice and shot Clark a shut-the-fuck-up stare.
It was worse than he could have imagined. Probably the furthest away from a cat fight as possible.
It was obvious that the text across the front window was painted with the victim’s blood, possibly using her arm stump as a paint brush. The gruesome details didn’t interest Lance, not yet anyway.

I’M A BIT CONFUSED

The message had been there for about half an hour so it was dry and black.
“Get ident here straight away. That sack of shit from Lerston seems to have made his way over our part of town.” Lance said, hands on his hips and shaking his head slowly. “And get detective Reiley out here.”

Denton had opened the back car door and was fumbling around with a bloody pair of rubber gloves. He was mumbling under his breath as he so often did whilst he worked. Lance approached him.

“Anything?”

“It’s him all right. It’s the troubled soul from Lerston. There’s bits and pieces back here but I’d assume whoever did this would have the majority of the remains. I did find this though,” Denton ducked his head out of the car and turned around, producing a wallet with a giant stripe of blood down the middle. He opened it and picked out a drivers license. Lance snapped on a glove and took the card from him.

Jennifer, he thought bitterly, and his heart jumped. The young women smiling in the thumb size photo didn’t much look like his wife but she did have the same name.

“Jennifer O’Collin.” He said. “nineteen years old.”

Denton heaved a sigh and took the ID card from Lance.

“Pretty girl.” he said, “I’ll organize notification.” Clark placed the card back into the plastic wallet slot and said something to himself that Lance didn’t quite catch.

Lance walked over to the front of the vehicle that would soon be on the front page of every news paper in the east coast.

I’M A BIT CONFUSED

He couldn’t help but smile and think about the mangled thoughts going through the killer’s head when he wrote that.
“You sure are, buddy.” He said. “Isn’t everyone?”

Lance didn’t want to be there. He wanted to leave this place and return to a sanctuary of memory that served as an only retreat for him.

He closed his eyes and pictured her sitting in the living room, bathed with crystal sunbeams and dancing dust.