The girl wouldn’t stop staring at me.
I was trying to concentrate, to make sure I had my timing right so that
I could go from one song to the next. It was 80s night, which meant a
medley of Duran Duran, Flock of Seagulls and every other one-hit wonder
most people loved then but make fun of now.
But just as I was about to transition from the Go-Go’s to Tainted
Love, I saw her. She was on the dance floor, sort of by herself, not really
looking at the other people around her. Instead, she was looking up at
me. Did I know her? Did she know me? I couldn’t tell from the distance
and being so far high above ground, but she didn’t look familiar.
I made the transition. The crowd screamed appreciatively and I started
rummaging around for my next playlist.
The bartender moved over and tapped my shoulder. “So who is she,
Gilbert?”
I didn’t really feel like talking to him, but when Chris Leach got
going it was hard to shut him up. “Who?”
“
That chick on the dance floor.” Chris waggled his eyebrows, Groucho
Marx-style. It made him, a university brat with electric blue hair and
tattoos running up and down his arms, look even more ridiculous. “She
won’t stop looking at you. You bang her or something?”
“
Jesus, Chris, you think a girl looks at a guy that means they’re
sleeping together?”
“
Been my experience,” he drawled.
I turned away. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to
work here. Don’t you have customers to serve?”
Chris took the hint. Then I got mad at myself because I could have used
the drink. I’d already been working for a couple of hours on half
a bottle of water, and I was thirsty.
My eyes locked onto the girl’s again. She was dancing now, and as
she moved her hips to the beat and I felt something stir. Who the hell
was she and why wouldn’t she stop looking at me?
I forced myself to break contact, but not before I saw her lips move.
I couldn’t make out what she was saying so I went back to the wall
of sound.
I like working clubs. I tell myself it’s to pay the bills, but the
real reason is because no one cares about the DJ. No one cares that he
might be watching, taking notes in his head so he can use the information
someday.
That’s why the girl bothered me. I couldn’t shake the feeling
that she got what I was really about, knew why I was there. I must have
had at least fifteen years on her, enough of a difference that her continued
focus on me was out of place.
I checked my watch. The club would be shutting down soon, and the kids
would leave or go to some after-hours bar next. I just wanted to get my
paycheck and go home.
Chris came over again. “That girl still staring at you, huh?”
“
You got a one-track mind?”
“
Hey, come on –“
I didn’t want to prolong the banter. “Never mind. Just get
me a beer.”
Chris mumbled something under his breath but threw a Molson’s to
me nonetheless. I drank it down in three gulps, thinking ahead to when
I would get my hands on the check. I ran down the back steps and opened
the door to the office. Then almost jumped.
With only a few feet separating us, I finally got a good look at the girl from
the dance floor. Early twenties, a couple of inches removed from five feet, red
hair mixed haphazardly with brown cascading over her shoulders. Not quite beautiful,
but other guys would have been happy staring right back.
Not me, not when I was so close to leaving. “What do you want?”
“
You have to help me,” she gasped out. “I need to hire you.”
“
Hire me?” I raised an eyebrow.
“
Cut the bullshit. I’ll pay you a grand up front and whatever your asking
price is.” She fished into her purse and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar
bills, then waved them in front of my face.
I drew back. “I never do my business here.”
She continued to hold the money in front of me, but her arm started shaking.
Finally, she put it away.
“
Look, I’m really –“
“
Desperate, I know,” I finished. “But that’s why I have a real
office, with real hours. I don’t like getting approached late at night
when I’m working.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears, but a couple of strands escaped. “But
that’s exactly why I wanted to hire you,” she said, furiously tugging
at the loose strands. “Because the guy I’m looking for, he was last
seen in the club.”
* * *
Twelve hours later Marilla Warner was spilling her guts about her missing brother
in my office, a tiny ground-floor affair in an apartment building on Lisgar between
Bank and O’Connor. Ottawa rental prices had skyrocketed over the last few
years and I’d been lucky to get anything in the downtown area.
Not that it impressed Marilla; as soon as she walked in the door she hugged her
arms to herself as if she was trying to ward off a blow.
“
I thought a private detective could do better than a closet,” she said.
So had I, once upon a time, but I said nothing. It was more important to listen
to her story, even though I couldn’t shake the conclusion I’d arrived
at almost immediately.
“
Frankly, I don’t think I can be much help,” I said when she was done.
“
What do you mean –“
I spread my hands. “Hear me out, Ms. Warner. You’ve been to Barrymore’s.
You know it gets crowded really quickly.”
Her face fell. “Especially on a Saturday night, I know.”
“
Exactly.” She might be starting to get it, I thought. “Considering
Matt’s history of running away, he might not want to be found this time.”
She placed her clenched hands on the desk. “And something awful might have
happened to him, Mr. Gilbert.” Her voice thickened with emotion. “Can’t
you understand why I might want to know what that is? The last time, he would
have jumped from the Locks into the Ottawa River if I hadn’t gotten there
to save him.”
An image flashed, just long enough for me to pinpoint what it was: a young man
standing on the precipice of the river’s mouth, screaming for help. A young
man on the brink of falling into water. A young man I couldn’t save.
I shook it off. “Of course I can, Ms. Warner.”
“
Marilla.” She moved her hands back onto her lap. Her eyes clouded over. “If
you’re going to spend my money looking for my brother’s dirty secrets,
you might as well call me by my first name.”
I wasn’t expecting so much pain in her voice. Our eyes locked, and the
image returned, along with the distant sound of a horrible splash. I’d
done my best to forget the last thirteen months ago, to forget that client. My
last one.
I didn’t like Marilla Warner. I wasn’t sure I could work with her.
But I knew I couldn’t say no.
“
That seems fair,” I said, the decision becoming more concrete in my mind. “But
before I take this on, I need to know why you’re so sure something bad
happened to Matt. So far you’re not giving me much to work with.”
Marilla didn’t hesitate. “Because he always updated his blog.”
“
Excuse me?”
“
Even when he was at his worst, even when he would run away, he’d always
write something on the site. He’d told me about it one night when he was
drunk and then forgot all about it, but occasionally I’d go check what
he had to say. Nothing too much, usually about his favorite bands and what girl
he happened to have a crush on that week, but he always had a post up per day,
even if it was only a link.”
“
Every day?” That surprised me. “Even when he ran away from home?”
Marilla nodded. “I’d always check. It was his signal to me that he
didn’t want to call or email but that he was OK, that he was safe. That
my mother didn’t have to worry.”
I ran the scenario through my head. Internet cafes, other people’s houses. “He
never took his laptop along, did he?”
“
He didn’t own a laptop,” Marilla said. “Usually he used my
mom’s computer in the living room.”
I swiveled my chair to the screen, then asked Marilla for the URL.
“
You want to see it right now?” she asked, startled.
“
Why not?”
She told me what it was. I typed it in and got a request to enter a username
and password.
“
He protected the site?”
Marilla shrugged. “It was supposed to be private.”
“
You know who else had access?”
“
He never told me. Maybe some of his friends, but honestly, I don’t know.”
I made a mental note to check the site statistics, and inputted the password
Marilla gave. A stark black background with white text appeared on the screen.
As soon as I started reading I understood why she was so crazed with worry.
“The last entry was the night he disappeared,” I said.
“
And there’s been nothing since, not in over a week.” Marilla began
to pace around with her hands behind her back. I wanted to say something, offer
words of comfort, but there was no point. It wasn’t my job.
She turned back. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
A small part of me didn’t want to, because I knew what faced me: constant
dreams, obsession about saving my client, and futility. Revisiting that territory
made my throat constrict.
Then, slowly, I found my voice again. “It’s been a long time. No
one knows who I am anymore, and I like it that way.”
Marilla rolled her eyes. “If I could recognize you straight off, what makes
you think others wouldn’t?”
She had a point, but I had an answer. “Most people who think they know
me start gushing about how much they love watching This Hour Has 22 Minutes.”
“
That’s ridiculous.” She choked back a laugh. “You don’t
look anything like Rick Mercer.”
“
You’re seeing me in the middle of the day.”
She was silent for a while until recognition dawned on her face. “So you
can blend in.”
“
Exactly. That’s why being a DJ works for me. I’m easily ignored.
And why it’ll be easy to ask about Matt. Trust me, Marilla. I still know
how to do this.”
“
I trusted the police and they didn’t do a damn thing.”
“
But I’ve got one thing the police don’t: time.”
She quieted down and we moved on to the business of arranging terms and times.
I said I would call her later tomorrow, after my next club shift was over, and
didn’t make any further promises. She said she could accept that.
Naturally, we were both wrong.
* * *
I spent the time in between Marilla’s departure from the office and my
shift at the club sifting through online archives of the Citizen and the Sun
for any mentions about Matt Warner’s disappearance. There wasn’t
much – only a couple of two-line blurbs. And while the Barrymore’s
sighting checked out, there was nothing about him running away from home, or
where he might be now.
Then I moved over to read more of his blog. The entries were almost uniformly
depressing, even the outbound links. But there was something about his writing
style, his personality that got to me. I recognized the guarded tone, the shuttering
of what was really going on in his head. If my brother had been the one to go
missing, I’d be worried sick, too.
I was so caught up that I was almost fifteen minutes late for the 8 PM start
time, barely making it before Nedda Claremont, Barrymore’s manager, would
start docking my pay. I spent the first hour in a sweaty haze and the next only
slightly less pissed off. Thankfully I knew the playlist practically off by heart
so I could move through each song without having to scramble for the next one.
“
That chick’s staring at you again.”
Chris’s voice cut through my inner thoughts, and I glared at him in response. “Get
off it, I’m trying to work,” I added for good measure.
“
No, I’m serious. Last time, I thought it was funny. Now it’s getting
creepy.”
I scanned the crowd and didn’t see anyone looking at me, let alone Marilla.
“
What the hell are you talking about? She’s not down there. Why don’t
you keep your mind on making sure everyone gets the drink they want, all right?”
Chris gripped a nearby beer bottle and swung it in my direction. He grumbled
something under his breath.
“
Say that again?”
He put the bottle down and looked at me. “Fine, I guess it’s worth
repeating. Just because you’re a fucking DJ doesn’t mean you have
to be all attitude and shit.”
I clenched my fists, willing myself to calm down. It would have been easy to
pick a fight and get distracted, like I used to do when I was younger, but I
needed to keep my eyes open and my profile low.
“
Sorry, Chris,” I said half-heartedly.
He shook his head. “No, I am. I’ve just been on edge lately, ever
since my friend Matt went missing.”
That got my attention. “Wasn’t that in the papers last week?” I
asked, keeping my voice even.
“
For about two seconds.” Chris’s mouth twisted in disgust. “When
a hot blonde girl disappears in Green’s Creek, they give a shit all of
a sudden. When it’s a nineteen-year-old college student –“
I had to cut him off before he could start ranting in earnest. “I know,
but Ardeth Wood sells more papers than Matt Warner.”
“
What’s that supposed to mean? That people care less about Matt? Just because
he had some problems, just because he almost got arrested –“
“
Arrested?” Something else Marilla neglected to tell me. Maybe she didn’t
know, but I doubted it.
“
It wasn’t anything, really. Ever since they changed the pot laws having
a couple of baggies can’t get you in trouble. But the cops acted like it
was a huge deal, threatening him and everything.”
“
You were there?”
“
Of course not. Matt told me the next day. How they made threats like if they
caught him with even a speck there’d be no telling what they would do next.”
I thought of pressing further but I didn’t want to raise his suspicions.
One more back-and-forth and he’d start wondering why I was asking so many
questions. Instead, I filed the information away, remembering another reason
why I didn’t care for Chris: his constant belief that anyone wearing a
police uniform was out to get him, and by extension, his friends.
But he surprised me; the intervening silence seemed to make Chris want to keep
talking.
“
I saw him the night he disappeared. Here.” He pointed to me.
“
In the DJ booth?”
“
Yeah. Sometimes we’d goof around and he’d come up to help me bartend.” He
saw the look on my face. “Matt was nineteen, so it wasn’t a problem.”
“
That’s not the issue. You know unauthorized people aren’t supposed
to be up here. Where was Anne?” She was Barrymore’s other main DJ,
working the bigger crowds on Thursday and Friday nights.
“
Dunno,” said Chris, “Probably in the bathroom snorting something.
Look it doesn’t matter. The point is that we were having a good time, and
then all of a sudden he looks out in the crowd, his face goes white and says, ‘I
gotta go.’ He ran off before I could ask why.” Chris’s face
was ashen. “And that’s the last time I saw him,” he whispered.
Investigative instinct took over. “What do you think happened?”
“
Something bad, really bad.”
It was only a coincidence that Trent Reznor’s “Hurt” was next
up in the playlist. Chris scowled at the turntable. “It was my own damn
fault.”
On the one hand, I was glad to have more information; on the other hand, I was
so used to the asshole edition of Chris that I didn’t know what to make
of his sudden candor.
Then I saw Marilla, smack in the center of the dance floor. She was waving both
arms in my direction and people around her were looking at her, then up at me.
This wasn’t good.
“
Be right back.”
“
Wait a minute –“
I put up my hands. “Can’t. That girl’s down there and I need
to deal with it.”
“
So you are fucking her.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “No, you dumbass. That’s Matt’s
sister.”
I raced down the stairs and nearly smacking myself headlong into someone’s
chest.
“
Jesus, what are you in such a rush for?”
It took a moment to place the gravelly voice with the silver-haired anorexic
standing in front of me. “I’m taking my half-hour break a little
early, Nedda,” I said, daring her to bitch me out.
She didn’t. “It’s your life, Gilbert, but if you can do something
about that redhead on the dance floor –“
“
What do you mean? She bothering people?”
Nedda grimaced. “Put it this way: I’m this close to throwing her
out of here.”
It had barely been two minutes from the time I left the DJ booth to running into
Nedda. What could have possibly happened? “I’ll take care of it,” I
said, the weariness suddenly hitting me.
She raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
“
No you don’t, Nedda, I don’t have time for this right now. I’ll
talk to you after closing.”
I hurried down the rest of the flight of stairs. Then when I saw what was taking
place on the dance floor, I almost wished I hadn’t.
“
What the fuck do you mean, asshole?”
“
I mean I don’t like your fucking questions, bitch. You want me to make
that any clearer?”
“
Sure, why not. Spell it out for me.”
Marilla had positioned herself inches from a Goth-influenced kid with tattoos
covering most of his arms. Another couple of exchanges and the fight would begin
properly.
I waded through the crowd towards them. “Hey, what’s this all about?” I
shot a glance to Marilla, hoping she’d keep her mouth shut about me.
“
This stupid bitch keeps asking me questions. Same ones, over and over, fucking
over again.” He glared at Marilla. “I don’t know anything.
I don’t know what the fuck happened to Matt. Why do you keep insisting
I do?”
“
Because you were there with him that night, Kelly! Because you know something
bad happened to him and I want to know what it is.”
I stepped closer, putting my hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Look, she’s
distraught and there’s no sense in keeping the argument going. Understand?”
Kelly’s macho posturing disappeared. “Yeah, no problem,” he
said, shrinking away from me. “But this isn’t finished, Marilla.”
“
You bet it isn’t,” she snapped.
I grabbed her hand and led her off the dance floor. “What the hell’s
gotten into you? If you’d kept that up much longer Barrymore’s would
have had to call the cops.”
She jerked her hand away. “I was trying to get your attention.”
Oh, this was rich. “And calling me on my cell phone wasn’t good enough?”
She fumbled for a lie, but I cut her off. “It’s a little too late
for excuses, Marilla.”
“
But –“
“
Let me finish. Do you want to be remembered as the crazy psycho who nearly got
into a fight on the dance floor? How’s that supposed to help find Matt?”
Her defenses evaporated. “It’s just that I hadn’t heard anything,” she
said in a near whisper, “and I keep texting his cell phone and checking
his blog every hour, hoping he’ll magically post something new or write
me back –“
“
Marilla, you have to let me do my job. You can’t go around antagonizing
people. Now if I try to ask Kelly anything he won’t give me a real answer.”
I led her towards the main bar and signaled the bartender there for a couple
of Molson’s. “It’s okay for now, I think. And as it happens,
I have something to tell you.” I filled her in on Chris’s comments.
Her eyes went wide.
“
So Matt really was at the club.”
“
Why would you think otherwise?” I asked, caught off guard.
She leaned back on the stool and dropped her shoulders down. “Because all
I had to go on was what Kelly said the day after Matt disappeared,” Marilla
said. “The cops didn’t believe him, especially after he changed his
story a bunch of times. And when I saw him here tonight I freaked. I needed to
know what the deal was.”
“
I know it must be difficult –“
“
Don’t tell me what difficult is!” She snatched the Molson bottle
closest to her and took a long gulp. “You couldn’t possibly understand.
You don’t have to go home every night and watch your mother’s eyes
brim with tears because her son hasn’t come home.”
Even if I’d wanted to get into how well I understood, Marilla was in no
mood to care about my past problems. “I know I can’t. What I can
do, though, is help you. Got it?”
“
Got it.”
“
I have to get back now because my break’s over. But from now on, if you
come back to Barrymore’s, keep yourself out of potential bar fights.”
“
I just want to find Matt,” she said plaintively. “I just want to
know what happened.”
She got up before me and ran towards the front door. I thought of watching her
go but, knowing it would be futile, returned to the DJing booth high above the
floor.
The lateness of the hour meant switching to more ambient electronic music. The
mindlessness of the repetitive beat helped me concentrate on the facts, what
little there were. Matt Warner had disappeared. He’d last been seen here
by Chris, possibly by Kelly. After that, nothing. His sister was devastated,
his mother understandably frantic with worry, and the police didn’t much
care to investigate further, never mind bother with the likes of what they viewed
as pesky amateurs.
Maybe if this were New York or LA I’d have more avenues to explore, more
mean streets to travel down. But this was Ottawa, where the sidewalks stayed
out a little longer than they once did but still effectively rolled themselves
up by 10 PM on weekdays and not all that much later on weekends.
Long story short, there wasn’t much of a story. Frustrated, I turned to
ask Chris for another beer, only to find somebody else looking extremely unhappy
to be working behind the bar.
“
Where’d he go, Dalia?” She was Nedda’s office assistant, a
thirtyish redhead going quickly to fat.
“
Beats me,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Nedda was actually
pretty pissed that he’d taken a runner and asked me to stop working on
the accounts and get over here.”
“
Fuck.” And in my mind, I heard the echo of Chris’s words: something
bad, really bad.
“
Look,” I began, “I gotta –“
“
Get out of here?” Dalia finished. “Figures. Nobody ever wants to
stick around. This place toxic or something?”
“
More than you know.”
I’d never been up and down those stairs so much in my life. But the extra
bit of exercise allowed me to sprint out towards the front door where several
police cars were waiting. The sirens flashed angrily and a throng of people – mostly
college kids and those who pretended to be to get in with fake ID – milled
about the “DO NOT CROSS” yellow tape.
“
What happened?” I asked the one standing closest to me.
The girl visibly shuddered. “I don’t know why I’m still standing
here. It was awful. Just awful!”
“
What was?”
“
Watching him die like that. Two bullets in his chest and bam! That was it.”
I felt my phone vibrate against the back pocket of my jeans. I picked up, not
recognizing the number.
“
Mr. Gilbert?” asked a familiar voice. “I’m really in trouble
now.”
* * *
It was a repeat of our first meeting just twenty-four hours earlier. But this
time, Marilla Warner and I were separated by a glass booth and a telephone.
“
You should have gotten a lawyer,” I insisted for the fifth time.
“
I don’t need one yet.”
“
Like hell you don’t. Do you realize how bad this looks to the cops? You
were seen arguing very publicly with someone who then got killed right outside
where the argument took place. No wonder they found you so quickly.”
“
But I didn’t do anything! I don’t need a lawyer to start making me
look worse.”
Maybe the problem was the separation, that her facial features were distorted
by the glass. Or that her voice was completely disassociated from her moving
lips, making everything seem even more dramatic than they really were. Whatever
it was, I could see I wasn’t getting through to her.
“
A lawyer might actually advise you on what you should do next.”
“
I know what I need to do next,” she insisted stubbornly. “Find Matt.”
“
And he’ll explain everything to the cops? That might be hard to do.”
“
Why are you being so mean to me?” she shrilled into my left ear.
I took a deep breath. “I’m worried, I’m trying to help, and
unfortunately you’ve just made things a lot more difficult. So what aren’t
you telling me, Marilla? Because now I’m certain you’re hiding something.”
She paused for a moment, the frown lines deepening on her face. “Forget
it. I knew calling you would be a waste of time.”
I watched her slam the phone down. She signaled for the guard, my cue to leave.
I got up and stretched my shoulders, hoping the massive tension would dissipate.
I’d barely slept in days and knew the cycle would be repeating itself for
the next few. I’d gone to visit Marilla to tell her one thing – I’d
be dropping the case – and instead the opposite had happened.
Back in my car, I quickly found the 417 West exit for the Queensway. I switched
on the radio to a classical music station for something calmer, but Mozart’s
Requiem wasn’t quite what I had in mind. At least the Dies Irae finished
up by the time I got to the Metcalfe exit. By the time I found my usual spot
along Lisgar, I’d had enough of death and depressing music.
I walked down the hall towards my office. Chris was waiting for me, arms crossed
at his chest and looking more scared than I’d ever seen him.
“I really need to talk to you,” he said.
I couldn’t believe this. “What the hell are you doing here? Does
everyone know what I really do for a living?”
He shrugged. “I’ve known the whole time.”
Great. So much for keeping both of my lives separate.
“
Why are you here, Chris?”
“
Because Matt’s sister shouldn’t be in jail for something she didn’t
do. Can I come in? Please?”
I hesitated, and he continued whining. “Dammit, Gilbert, there’s
no one else I can talk to, you’re the only one, please –“
“
Cut that shit out,” I snapped. But I opened the door and let him in.
He took a look around, not bothering to hide his contempt. “Some office,” he
cracked.
“
I’m sure I’d do better in San Francisco.”
“
What?”
“
Never mind.” If he didn’t get it, I wouldn’t enlighten him.
Chris parked himself in the chair across from me, splaying his legs out to both
sides. “That murder, man, it freaked me the hell out. I saw it happen.”
“
Funny,” I said, “Because Dalia said you ran off without telling anyone
where you went.”
He slouched back into the seat. “You went downstairs to talk to Matt’s
sister and I got a call, saying I had to leave. I asked why but I didn’t
get an explanation, just another order to get out of the club. So I went outside
and saw Kelly get shot.”
I’d never seen him so completely spooked. “Why are you coming to
me and not the police?” I asked.
“
Because Matt shot him.” When I didn’t answer, Chris repeated himself. “Matt
shot Kelly and took off.”
“
And he called you to say he was about to do it?”
Chris nodded, keeping his eyes to the floor. “I didn’t believe him.
I thought he was crazy, acting up, but then I saw it and I couldn’t lie
to myself. How could he have done something like that?”
I didn’t know, but I thought of one answer. “Maybe he was afraid.”
“
Of the cops?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ll ask again: why did you come to me, Chris?
What made you think I could help?”
“
Because Matt talked about you, about the cases you used to work on. He said you
were a good guy, even if things didn’t always work out.”
That didn’t make sense. I didn’t know him. Then my brain made some
connections and I began to figure it out. Something must have shown on my face
because Chris asked, “what is it?”
“
I think I know where he might be.” I got up, grabbed my bag and started
for the door.
Chris stopped me. “I’m coming with you.”
At first I was going to say no but he had one advantage: he knew Matt. I didn’t. “All
right,” I relented, “But do as I say. Don’t question, don’t
whine, and don’t change anything.”
He nodded his head like a puppy eager to please. “So where are we going?”
“
The Locks.”
* * *
Chris and I didn’t say anything on the drive down. Thankfully traffic was
pretty light because it was still mid-afternoon on a weekday and rush hour hadn’t
begun yet. I found a parking space on Colonel By Drive and we both jumped out
of the car, making a dash down to where the mouth of the Ottawa River was banded
by a series of gates. Hence, the Locks.
A boy with bleach-blond hair and a torn black shirt stood at one edge. A wave
of dizziness hit me, and I desperately wanted to run back to the car.
“
That’s Matt.” Chris’s words brought me back to attention. “What
should we do?”
“
You’ll stay behind.” Chris opened his mouth to respond but then clamped
it shut, probably deciding it was better not to argue.
I didn’t like the scene in front of me. Matt teetered precariously on the
precipice of the Locks, his hair wildly unkempt and his eyes darting all over
the place. A single step forward and he’d fall in. I didn’t know
if I had the ability to talk him away from the edge. If I could right past wrongs.
I took a small step forward, then another. Matt turned around.
“
Who the hell are you?” Then his scrutiny gave way to recognition. “You’re
Gilbert.”
“
Marilla sent me to help you,” I replied.
“
Like hell she did. She’s given up on me. Everyone has.”
“
No one’s given up on you. You’ll get the help you need, Matt. But
you have to step away, come towards me.”
“
No way! It’s better in the water.”
“
In the freezing cold? There’s medication, Matt. It can help.”
He shook his head violently. “It’s too late. I thought Kelly was
doing something to hurt me, to bring those cops after me. It’s too fucking
late!”
I couldn’t wrench my gaze away from what happened next, which seemed to
take place in slow motion. I heard someone yell in the background but didn’t
place it as Chris’s anguished scream until a long time later. I didn’t
hear the throng of tourist rush forward, nor the distant splash, until I was
back in my office, trying to make sense of everything.
Most of all, I wondered why once again, I’d been a step behind at every
point.
* * *
She stared at me again from the dance floor the following Saturday night. I knew
she’d be back, and I knew what would follow: me keeping the playlist going,
scanning the crowd for anything amiss, grabbing a beer or few, then shutting
everything down near the 1 AM closing before getting my pay for the night and
going home.
But it didn’t quite go that way.
I walked into the office and Nedda stood there with her arms folded. “There’s
someone to see you.” She didn’t have to say the rest out loud: get
her the fuck out of here, now.
“
Thanks. It won’t be long.”
“
Good.” She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a check.
Once she’d signed it, she handed it to me. “Never seen someone look
like hell as this one, Gilbert.”
A few moments later, Marilla poked her head around the doorframe. Nedda was right:
she did look like hell. I’d spent days thinking about what I would say,
and now that she stood in front of me, I couldn’t find the words.
But I didn’t have to. “This is for you.” Marilla held out a
trembling hand clutching a piece of paper.
I could have refused, giving reasons like I didn’t want to be paid by people
who kept secrets. But everyone kept secrets, and people usually believed they
had good reasons to do so. I know I did.
I took the check and asked how she was doing.
Marilla narrowed her eyes. “How do you think?”
“
You couldn’t have saved Matt. He was too far gone.”
She wasn’t buying it. “Of course I could have. I could have stayed
away from Kelly and not brought Matt closer. I could have kept a greater watch,
made sure he could come back when he had his medication regulated again –“
“
You really believe that?”
Her blue eyes were so bleak now, and I knew I’d never forget that look.
Like many other things about her.
“
I don’t know.”
She turned around, giving me one last full-on stare. “I’ll be okay,
Gilbert. I know I will, someday. But my mother? She never will be, because her
son’s not coming back.”
With that, she was gone. I stared at the two checks, from two different parts
of my life. I’d done my best to keep them from merging, but I knew better.
They’d never stay separate again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Weinman is the crime fiction columnist for the Baltimore Sun, co-editor of the publishing industry news blog Galleycat, and probably best known for Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind hailed by USA Today as "a respected resource for commentary on crime and mystery fiction."
Her stories will appear this year in BALTIMORE NOIR (Akashic) DUBLIN NOIR (Akashic) DAMN NEAR DEAD (Busted Flush Press) and Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine. She lives in New York.
Return to Summer 2006 Table of Contents
© 2006 SPINETINGLER Magazine - All rights reserved |
