Beloved Evangeline (5 page)

I scrunched my nose, examining my four-inch ruffled grey peep-toed heels with growing distaste.

“
Steve, you should be careful with her; I heard she’s into really weird stuff, and the guys she dates end up running away, or worse. Apparently there was some really bad stuff happening with her, and that she probably moved here from New Mexico to avoid a scandal. I heard this one guy even...”

I couldn’t hear the rest of what was said.
Please no
, was all I could think. No one else has ever witnessed one of these attacks, and I don’t want anyone to, ever.
It simply is not fair
. This hasn’t happened in so long—I thought I’d gotten better. But, it
always
starts with the hands. The trembling starts slowly, with the left hand first. Usually it’s just a faint twitch; sometimes I’m not even sure if it’s anything at all... at first. But once the shaking starts, there’s no longer any doubt what it is.

After that it spreads to my right hand, and next my chest starts to tighten. Try as I might to stop it, once I reach that point, my breathing begins to have an uncontrollable, erratic mind of its own, which is followed by a kind of hollow roaring, lasting for several moments. The attacks usually culminate in a mind-bending, deafening silence. It is the kind of unnatural lack of sound that comes from being underwater, knowing that you’re drowning but there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve never come anywhere close to drowning, but I can tell you exactly what it feels like.

Although I can’t stop it once it starts, over the years, I’ve gotten better at pulling myself out of it—most of the time. It slowly dawns on me that this little episode has been brought on by shock, surprise, so it’s not the real thing, just like a small aftershock, really. It takes me a moment to clear my head. I think about all of the progress I’ve made over the years, which usually helps (I like to keep moving forward, no sense going back). I leaned against the wall for a few moments and gripped my hands together to stop the shaking. I steadied my breath. One thing I am proud of is that, despite these embarrassing little episodes, I have never, ever fainted. Fainting is for simple-minded idiots and lesser televangelists.

Gradually the pounding subsided and my hearing returned.

“
...she’s just a very pathetic girl with hardly any friends. She never goes anywhere, doesn’t get asked out on dates. She’s the dark, scary girl that no one likes. Still, she’s got that edgy sort of hotness going on… so what if she’s a little crazy? All the better, as far as I’m concerned.” There was a chorus of sniggering in response.

“
I’m going to make her feel special, that’s all it’s gonna take,” Steve continued, “She’s going to end up begging me for it... on her hands on knees...” More laughter.

I think I’m going to be sick
.

Just then the laughter and chatter started getting closer. They’re headed this way.
Shit
. I quickly wiped my eyes and took a few steps back toward the break room; anyone would think I was just coming from there.

“
Well, looky here, it’s my girl, Evangeline,” said Steve, flashing me a large, phony smile and oozing the kind of phony charm that always turns my stomach. Before I was given a chance to say anything, he continued, “I wanted to tell you how sad I am that you’re ditching my little party.” He twisted his face into mock sadness, bending his shoulders forward. “With my big promotion, I just bought a huge place right on the beach. It’s
so
big
, and... I’m dying to
show
it
to you.” Several of the guys tried unsuccessfully to hide their laughter.

I was too shaken, and I felt defenseless. I’m not even a real person to them—just some kind of freakish sport—so I don’t know why anything they said mattered to me. Still, no witty comebacks came. “I’m... busy...” was all I managed to get out.
So stupid
. I could feel the tears threatening to spill out. It was only by force of sheer will that I kept them from doing just that.

Steve put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to the side. “Let me tell you something: I know you’re not busy,” he whispered in my ear, “and if you really want to show everyone you’re not just the weird little office loser, you’ll be at my place tonight. You’ve snubbed me for five years now, but you got nowhere left to run. I know you don’t want to hide any more from whatever it is you’ve been hiding from. ” I instinctively stiffened and tried to pull away; he pulled me closer. “Come on, it’s me, the S-dog…” At this, I opened my mouth to make a snide comment, unable to contain the smart-ass in me even at such a moment, but he continued, apparently unaware, “I know your little secret, and if you don’t show up my party, I’m going to make sure everyone else knows it, too. Those are the rules.”

He squeezed my arm painfully before smiling and releasing his grip, returning to the rest of guys nonchalantly.

As they left, Steve shot me a look over his shoulder, winking. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

I hardly said anything during lunch. I know everyone noticed. I couldn’t stop thinking:
How could they have found out about me?
I couldn’t bear the thought of everyone knowing. I’d have to move again, or would I? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if it would make much difference. I’m not really close to anyone here
anymore
. Maybe I could stay. For some reason I stared at the food on my plate like that was going to help matters. I couldn’t help it. It felt like my life was unraveling.

“
Aren’t you going to eat anything, Evangeline?” Nicky asked cautiously.

Nicky Cauffield was my childhood best friend. She’s a petite, blue-eyed blonde, who never seems to let anything in this world really get her down, and the best friend I’ve ever had. All my subsequent female friends in life have been compared to her, and none have really measured up. She’s never competitive, effortlessly cool, and unfailingly loyal. She’s married now, with two beautiful little girls, Gwen, 7, and Liv, 5, to whom I am godmother. Her husband, Jeff, works for the Jaguars in some kind of merchandising capacity. He doesn’t like me much. Nicky’s life is perfect; something is clearly wrong with her taste in friends.

I missed her terribly when my family moved to New Mexico when I was about 13. Then, by a miraculous twist of fate, we ended up working at the same place when I moved back to Jacksonville five years ago. I’d like to say we picked up right where we left off as kids, and maybe we did.... for a little while. Unfortunately, we’d sort of drifted apart since then. Friendships are something I have difficulty
sustaining
these days.

My head shot up quickly, and I forced myself to make fleeting eye contact with each of them, despite the shame I felt in my heart. “I’m not very hungry today, sorry guys, but… I did change my mind about the party. I decided to go after all.”

Gavin shot me a look of excited surprise. “That’s great, Evangeline! Wow, this is gonna be awesome. I can’t
wait
to cuss with Steve’s head tomorrow,” he cheered, rubbing his hands together.

I shook my head hopelessly.

“
Yeah, Evangeline. It’s been so long since we’ve hung out outside work. I’m really glad you decided to go,” Nicky added, smiling sincerely.

Simon hadn’t looked up during any of this and continued to glower at his plate. “What made you change your mind? I thought you hated...
parties.
” He spat out the word.

“
I... just thought it’d be nice to get out ...” More lies.

I’m a terrible liar and he could obviously tell. Simon got up and left the table without saying another word. I stared after him nervously, chewing on my lip.

“
I think he’s just upset because you quit going to all of Gavin’s parties awhile back, remember? You said you hated parties and happy hours?” Nicky gave a small smile of encouragement, “And I think he was under the impression you didn’t really like Steve, either. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll have calmed down by tomorrow.”

Gavin just shrugged unhelpfully.

When I returned to my desk, there was a buzz of activity. Before I could ask what was going on, a dark shadow passed across the glass of my office window, and I froze. Time suspended as the shadow moved across the largest pane of glass I’d ever seen it reflected in—a disturbing pair of eyes nearly discernable.

“
Be careful this weekend, Evangeline,” called Mr. Oxley from the doorway.

Files cascaded out of my hands as I froze, stupefied.

Only after Mr. Oxley helped me sort out the files—without even asking how they’d escaped from my hands—did I steal a glance at the window. Only an unblemished ocean of blue sky floating in it.

I shook my head and managed to inquire, “Why? What’s going on?”

“
There’s been another accident I’m afraid. Poor woman. They found her in front of an abandoned apartment building. They’re estimating the time of death at around midnight, just like all the others. Apparently, the police say scaffolding must have collapsed on her, but there just seem to be too many of these strange accidents occurring. It just makes you think. I mean, people aren’t calling this monster the ‘Midnight Murderer’ for no reason. You have to believe there’s a connection somehow.”

“
Yeah, no need to worry about
me
,” I responded, with maybe just a bit too much confidence.

He shook his head incredulously, like he couldn’t possibly trust me to keep myself safe over a weekend, before walking away, briefcase in hand.

Another woman dead. I’d lost track of how many there’d been. Nine? Ten? I couldn’t be sure. It certainly didn’t seem as safe as it had just a few months earlier, before these bizarre deaths started happening. Each woman was killed in a different, slightly bizarre way, or in no discernable way at all. The police were calling them all accidents, but like Mr. Oxley said, it just seemed too much of a stretch for them
not
to be related. Unfortunately, if the police felt differently, they probably weren’t even looking for a killer…

The rest of the day passed quickly.

3.

That evening I felt like there was something I had to do, and before I knew it, I was on my way to visit a woman at a mental institution, the violent wing. It’s the place I dread going more than any other, but feel a powerful obligation pulling on me. She is restrained, screaming at the top of her lungs, as I walk down the corridor. Orderlies are having difficulty keeping her in her restraints. She has the look of someone who has been institutionalized for a long, long time. Hopeless. Though her features are faintly familiar, she is all but unrecognizable from the woman I remember, the woman whose features I thought I would never forget. The doctor meets me in the hallway and tells me I have to wait—it’s not safe for me to be here right now.
Wait, here
, he says,
until she’s sedated
. It’s hard to hear him, with all the screaming.

I sit down in the waiting room somewhat awkwardly. A peculiar mix of people tend to congregate at mental hospitals for the criminally insane. First there’s this man next to me, who’s wearing a suit and is quite handsome and well-groomed. I think maybe he’s also a visitor until my eyes reach his feet, which are shoed with violent purple Mary Janes. He says nothing and doesn’t make eye contact with the rest of us. Then there’s the woman on the other side of him, who I initially think is an obvious mental patient because of the neon green silk top and jeans six sizes too big that she’s tied with a flannel shirt, but then I begin to have doubts. Maybe she just got herself dressed in the dark or was in a coma for the last 20 years.

There’s a man about my age sitting in the corner who show’s no outward signs of infirmity except for annoying me with his insistence that I change jackets with him.

I say, “Thank you,” “No, thank you,” “I’m good,” and finally, “I really don’t want to?”

Last, but not least, is a morbidly obese woman wearing a dangerously flimsy dingy white cotton tank top and shorts. She stares at me while chewing her nails and spitting them out. Her eyes narrow before she asks, “You got kin here?”

Me, I stare off into space and try to look as crazy as possible in order to fit in. Fortunately, it isn’t hard.

And then there’s the smell. The odor is equal parts long unbathed skin, soiled laundry, and cigarette smoke, with maybe a dash of bleach. There is no other smell in the world quite as haunting.