FINAL DESTINATIONS (cont'd).
His puppy-dog-on-the-side-of-the-road syndrome kicked into full gear. Luckily, the stools at the counter were bolted to the floor, or he would have knocked his over as he raced out the door to meet her. He didn't bother to put his rain slicker back on. Instead, he draped it around her without even asking her if she wanted it.
"My God, Julie. What are you doing? Did you even drive over here?"
"No. I walked. I didn't have my car keys or purse with me. The only thing I had was my cell phone. I was carrying it tonight in case my shrink calls me. (Her shrink? Julie had a shrink?) He only has my cell phone number."
He was leading her to his car, the doughnuts completely forgotten. He pressed the "unlock" button on his key remote and opened the passenger side of the door for her, clearing the seat of CDs and travel mugs, so she could sit. When he had driven over here, he hadn't realized he'd be taking her home with him. Reason would suggest this wasn' t the wisest move. He didn't even know what was going on with her. However, protective instincts and empathy had the upper hand. Reason put up a very weak fight for the police station, but protective instincts and empathy quickly squashed that notion. They wanted to get her out of the rain and harm's way. His house seemed the best place to do that.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To my house."
"We can't got there. We have to get out of town where he can't find me."
"He? He who? Your shrink?"
"No. Joe."
"Ohh, Joe. You're running away from Joe?"
"Yes. He's really, really mad at me this time, and I'm sure he'll kill me if he can. He wants to bring me down with him anyway. Landon, we can't go to your house. He'll find me there." The desperation in her voice was disconcerting.
"How? He's never been to my house. I've never even seen the guy. He doesn't know who I am or where I live."
"He does. He knows everyone who works with me. He made me give him a list once. He'll look you up. He'll find you. I locked him in the garage, but he'll get out and find me. He always does."
"Was he chasing you?"
"Yes."
"With a weapon?"
"No, but he doesn't need a weapon to kill me."
"Well, Julie, I can't just take you out of town. We've got nowhere to go, and you need some warm, dry clothes. We should call the police, if you're that scared of him. They can put a restraining order on him."
"The police wouldn't believe me. Please don't call them," was a little, but not much, more composed.
He'd heard this about victims of domestic abuse. They never wanted to get the cops involved, something to do with thinking it would make their husbands that much more angry. Thinking the police wouldn't believe her was a bit odd, but then, looking at her, she bore no black eyes, broken bones, or any other signs of physical abuse. Well, he'd drop it for now, but if the guy really did show up at his house, he'd definitely be dialling 911.
"All right. We won't call the police. But let me at least take you to my house, so we can put some warm clothes on you. I've got some Scotch, too. A couple of shots of that will do you some good." A couple more shots for himself wasn't such a bad idea either.
"He'll find me. I know he'll find me."
This panick-stricken young woman bore no resemblance to his mind's image of Julie. This scared little rabbit seemed somehow to have eaten the sly cat who was fond of delivering biting quips that took others a minute to decipher. He'd been in so many meetings with her when she was the sole dissenter, and nine times out of ten, she'd bring everyone else around to her point of view. He was tempted to believe that woman was playing some sort of a joke on him, was practicing some part in a play, had sent a twin sister to him, something. The woman with whom he'd shared so many fun lunches, the one he'd often unfairly compared to Laura during the dark days when Laura was a pit of negativity, that woman was suddenly going to appear any minute now, laughing about how she'd really fooled him, right?
So many times he'd been on the phone in the office, arguing with Laura about yet some other problem she believed they had, and he'd hang up to hear Julie's infectuous laugh. He'd find himself bitterly resenting the fact that his wife couldn't see the light his colleague so obviously saw shining all over the world, despite the fact she had a bear of a husband who seemed to be much worse than Landon. Her husband kept her at home, when all Landon ever did was to ask Laura please to let him know when she wasn't going to get home from work until after eight, so he wouldn't worry about her.
Landon still had a trunkful of Laura's old clothes in the spare room. He dragged it out and watched Julie choose a white turtleneck, some brown leggings, and an oversized blue sweater. He showed her to the bathroom, and just as she closed the door, the phone rang. For the second time that night, he contemplated not answering it. He knew who it was. Julie had been right. Joe had already tracked her down. Once again, his curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself pushing the talk button, getting ready to lie through his teeth."
This night seemed to be specializing in producing voices on the other end of phone lines that surprised him. He'd expected a raving lunatic, someone threatening to kill him if he didn't hand over Julie. What he heard instead was a completely calm, gentle -- sane, even -- voice. There was nothing the least bit demanding in the question,
"Is this Landon Small?"
"Yes." Maybe it was the police and not Joe.
"I'm so sorry to bother you at this hour of the night, but this is Joe McKnight. I'm looking for my sister Julie. She disappeared about three hours ago. She hasn't been taking her medication, and I'm worried sick. You're one of her co-workers whose name often pops up in our conversations, so I thought I'd try you on the off-chance she'd gotten in touch with you.
Brother? Wasn't Joe her husband? Did her brother and husband have the same name?
(To be continued.)
His puppy-dog-on-the-side-of-the-road syndrome kicked into full gear. Luckily, the stools at the counter were bolted to the floor, or he would have knocked his over as he raced out the door to meet her. He didn't bother to put his rain slicker back on. Instead, he draped it around her without even asking her if she wanted it.
"My God, Julie. What are you doing? Did you even drive over here?"
"No. I walked. I didn't have my car keys or purse with me. The only thing I had was my cell phone. I was carrying it tonight in case my shrink calls me. (Her shrink? Julie had a shrink?) He only has my cell phone number."
He was leading her to his car, the doughnuts completely forgotten. He pressed the "unlock" button on his key remote and opened the passenger side of the door for her, clearing the seat of CDs and travel mugs, so she could sit. When he had driven over here, he hadn't realized he'd be taking her home with him. Reason would suggest this wasn' t the wisest move. He didn't even know what was going on with her. However, protective instincts and empathy had the upper hand. Reason put up a very weak fight for the police station, but protective instincts and empathy quickly squashed that notion. They wanted to get her out of the rain and harm's way. His house seemed the best place to do that.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To my house."
"We can't got there. We have to get out of town where he can't find me."
"He? He who? Your shrink?"
"No. Joe."
"Ohh, Joe. You're running away from Joe?"
"Yes. He's really, really mad at me this time, and I'm sure he'll kill me if he can. He wants to bring me down with him anyway. Landon, we can't go to your house. He'll find me there." The desperation in her voice was disconcerting.
"How? He's never been to my house. I've never even seen the guy. He doesn't know who I am or where I live."
"He does. He knows everyone who works with me. He made me give him a list once. He'll look you up. He'll find you. I locked him in the garage, but he'll get out and find me. He always does."
"Was he chasing you?"
"Yes."
"With a weapon?"
"No, but he doesn't need a weapon to kill me."
"Well, Julie, I can't just take you out of town. We've got nowhere to go, and you need some warm, dry clothes. We should call the police, if you're that scared of him. They can put a restraining order on him."
"The police wouldn't believe me. Please don't call them," was a little, but not much, more composed.
He'd heard this about victims of domestic abuse. They never wanted to get the cops involved, something to do with thinking it would make their husbands that much more angry. Thinking the police wouldn't believe her was a bit odd, but then, looking at her, she bore no black eyes, broken bones, or any other signs of physical abuse. Well, he'd drop it for now, but if the guy really did show up at his house, he'd definitely be dialling 911.
"All right. We won't call the police. But let me at least take you to my house, so we can put some warm clothes on you. I've got some Scotch, too. A couple of shots of that will do you some good." A couple more shots for himself wasn't such a bad idea either.
"He'll find me. I know he'll find me."
This panick-stricken young woman bore no resemblance to his mind's image of Julie. This scared little rabbit seemed somehow to have eaten the sly cat who was fond of delivering biting quips that took others a minute to decipher. He'd been in so many meetings with her when she was the sole dissenter, and nine times out of ten, she'd bring everyone else around to her point of view. He was tempted to believe that woman was playing some sort of a joke on him, was practicing some part in a play, had sent a twin sister to him, something. The woman with whom he'd shared so many fun lunches, the one he'd often unfairly compared to Laura during the dark days when Laura was a pit of negativity, that woman was suddenly going to appear any minute now, laughing about how she'd really fooled him, right?
So many times he'd been on the phone in the office, arguing with Laura about yet some other problem she believed they had, and he'd hang up to hear Julie's infectuous laugh. He'd find himself bitterly resenting the fact that his wife couldn't see the light his colleague so obviously saw shining all over the world, despite the fact she had a bear of a husband who seemed to be much worse than Landon. Her husband kept her at home, when all Landon ever did was to ask Laura please to let him know when she wasn't going to get home from work until after eight, so he wouldn't worry about her.
Landon still had a trunkful of Laura's old clothes in the spare room. He dragged it out and watched Julie choose a white turtleneck, some brown leggings, and an oversized blue sweater. He showed her to the bathroom, and just as she closed the door, the phone rang. For the second time that night, he contemplated not answering it. He knew who it was. Julie had been right. Joe had already tracked her down. Once again, his curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself pushing the talk button, getting ready to lie through his teeth."
This night seemed to be specializing in producing voices on the other end of phone lines that surprised him. He'd expected a raving lunatic, someone threatening to kill him if he didn't hand over Julie. What he heard instead was a completely calm, gentle -- sane, even -- voice. There was nothing the least bit demanding in the question,
"Is this Landon Small?"
"Yes." Maybe it was the police and not Joe.
"I'm so sorry to bother you at this hour of the night, but this is Joe McKnight. I'm looking for my sister Julie. She disappeared about three hours ago. She hasn't been taking her medication, and I'm worried sick. You're one of her co-workers whose name often pops up in our conversations, so I thought I'd try you on the off-chance she'd gotten in touch with you.
Brother? Wasn't Joe her husband? Did her brother and husband have the same name?
(To be continued.)
posted by Emily Barton at 6:28 PM
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