Dark Corners READY FOR PRC (31 page)

“I’m a writer.”

“What is your husband’s name?”

“Daniel Thomas Reynolds.”

“You can tell her a bit of what happened—see if anything comes back to her,” Dr Livingston said to Danny.

“Did I hit my head? That would explain this massive headache.” I was starting to feel woozy from the pain.

Danny squeezed my hand “We think so—when you fell. . . .” I nodded for him to go on. “I left yesterday to go to the Daniel’s hardware store, then I called you because they didn’t have my part. I needed to drive to Springfield to get it. I said I wouldn't be home until later. You said that was fine, that you were writing.”

Yes, I remembered writing yesterday. I didn't remember the phone call, but that was normal. Often times I lost myself in a story and forget about everything else. It was actually surprising I’d even answered the phone.

“I got home pretty late—found you at the bottom of the stairs.”

No wonder it felt like I’d been hit by a truck. My entire body ached. “How did I get there?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t home. We were hoping you could tell us.”

I thought about it. I was writing. My character had reached his breaking point—lots of blood and gore. Then the phone rang. I answered it, worried Danny had run into some problem, because it was so late and he should have been home before now—but it wasn't Danny. It was a hang up call. Another one. 

My skin tingled like someone was watching me. I checked that the doors were locked and shut down my computer. I went upstairs to change for bed—and then I heard voices from the kitchen.  I went to the stairs, but my memory came up blank after that.

At some point, I must have started speaking aloud because Danny was nodding encouragingly and Dr Livingston looked smug.

“Did you take any pills or medications? Cold pills, sleeping pills, narcotics?”

“No—and why are you in here?” I asked indignantly.

“Ella, Dr Livingston is the psychiatrist you were supposed to see today. You didn’t go to your appointment.”

“Well, if I didn’t go, why is he here?”

“To help you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Ella, your computer was on and the last page—well, it read like a suicide note.” Danny shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Dr. Livingston.

“My character's in a bad place. And I specifically remember shutting down my computer—why was it on? More importantly it's fiction.
Fiction
. You know that.”

“I understand, but you have to have an evaluation. Since Dr. Livingston is going to be your doctor, I thought he would be best suited for that.”

“And why do I have to have an evaluation?”

“Everyone is worried about your well-being, Mrs. Reynolds. We need to know this wasn’t a suicide attempt.”

“If I wanted to kill myself I think I could come up with a much better way than throwing myself down some stairs. This is ludicrous.”

“Regardless, it is hospital policy.”

“Hospital policy can kiss my ass.”

“Well, it's either this or the psychiatric ward. Your choice.”

I glared at him, then looked to Danny for help.

“There's nothing else I can do. You're going to have to cooperate, El.”

“I hate shrinks.”  I looked back at Dr. Livingston and gave him the bitchiest smile I could muster through the pain. “Did I break anything?”

“No, you're pretty beat up though,” Danny said.

“You should rest for now Mrs. Reynolds. We will meet tomorrow to work on your evaluation.”

 “Is there absolutely no way I can get out of this?” I asked once he was out of the room.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Who called the cops?”

“I did. I was worried you were attacked.”

“How do you know I wasn’t?”

“They didn’t find any signs of forced entry.”

“I heard voices.”

“The TV was on when I got home.”

I sighed. “Why does it feel like you’re fighting against me?”

“Because you’re grumpy. Don’t worry, I still love you.”

“I'm tired.”

“It’s okay. Rest. I'll be here when you wake up,” he said softly and took my hand.  As he did, his eyes filled with tears. “Ella . . . Did you know? You lost the baby.”

“The
what
? I was . . .  No, that’s not possible, no—Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick.”

I woke up, shivering and huddled into a ball. It was dark outside. I sat for a moment remembering my dream, only it wasn't a dream—it had all happened. I did fall down the stairs; that was when I started seeing Dr. Livingston. I didn't like him any more now than I did then.

I sat in the dark on my couch, letting tears slide down my cheeks. I’d never thought of myself as the type of person who couldn’t be alone. I’d always been very secure by myself, but now that I literally had no one, it was different. I had no emergency contact person. I didn't have someone that I wanted to call with all news, good or bad. There were no permanent fixtures in my life. I thought of Susan, but for a year’s worth of reasons, she didn’t fit the bill. Gabriel was too new. I wasn't sure if he would stay around.

I was miles on in my pity parade when Gabriel arrived. I don't know how long he stood in the doorway before I noticed him.

“When did you get here?” I asked wiping the evidence of my tears from my cheeks.

“A couple minutes ago.”

“You didn’t say anything?”

“You looked like you were deep into something. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He turned on the light.

“No,” I said, shaking my head though it didn’t make sense to disagree; he was absolutely right. “How did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked.”

“No, it wasn’t. I locked it right after you left.”

“I just turned the handle and it opened. I assumed you forgot.”

“No, I specifically remember locking it.” I felt defensive.

“It’s okay, I believe you. It’s the house.”

“I’m sorry. I'm not used to…” I trailed off, realizing how pathetic it would sound.

“Not used to what?”

“To people believing me.” I laughed bitterly. “God, how lame is that?”

“Are you okay?”

“No, I'm feeling sorry for myself. Misery loves company.”

“It'll pass.” I couldn’t tell if he was asking me or telling me this.

“It usually does.” I took a moment or two more, then I stood up having mostly collected myself. “How was your day?”

“Not too bad.”  Gabriel had a look like he was up to something. “I have a gift for you.”

“Really?” I wasn't sure how to take this. Dread crept in as visions of all the terrible things he could have brought me—things that would only cause awkwardness—flooded into my mind. I had the desire to make him leave at once and never mention this present giving business again.

“Do you want to know what it is?”

“Yeah. Of course.” I didn't even convince myself. He had me trapped. There was no polite way out of this, and I had too few people who believed in me to ruin this with rudeness. Gabriel looked at me curiously, as if he were trying to decipher my emotions.

“I’ll go get it,” he said carefully.

I smiled and nodded, trying my best to look enthused. While he was gone, I paced about, mentally preparing myself to act thrilled about whatever the present was. I’d deal with the consequences of my reaction later. I desperately wanted a drink and I looked longingly over at the bar. I could see Gabriel through the window carrying something large and awkward. I had no idea what it could be; it was too dark to tell. I was glad it wasn't flowers, jewelry, or anything else potentially embarrassing. Sincere curiosity finally started to sink in, so I met him at the door.

“Ta da,” he said as I opened the door.

“My computer! Yay!” I smiled, genuinely thrilled to have my computer back from the police. “How did you get it back so soon?”

“I figured you were probably missing it, so I pulled a few strings.”

“That's amazing. Thank you so much.”

“What did you think I had gotten you?”

“I honestly had no idea.”

“You looked nervous,” he said as he sat the computer back in its spot, amused by my discomfort.

“Only a little. Is the monitor in the car? I'll go get it.”

“No, I’ll get it, you better set this up. It really isn’t my strength.”

I started to work on reconnecting all the cords and plugging everything in. Gabriel returned shortly with my monitor and dinner.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“A man whose mysteriousness is only surpassed by his handsomeness,” he agreed.

I laughed. “Did they find any clues on my hard drive?”

“No, nothing of use.”

I finished with the computer while Gabriel put our dinner—Chicken Tikka Masala—on plates and brought them back into the room. After we ate, my mind dove into more pressing matters.

“Have you heard anything about the shirt or sock yet?”

“Nothing back from the sock. All they found on the shirt was the hair—and yeah, it’s a woman’s.”

“Blonde?” I just wanted to confirm one more time.

“Yes.”

I tried not to dwell on this. I replayed the day we found the items in my head. How could I have forgotten there was something else in the jar besides blood? “What else was in the jar? You said there was something metal, but never told me what it was.”

“I don't know for sure, but it looked like a ring.”

“Danny still had his ring on when he died. Why would anyone leave a ring behind? This just gets more confusing each day.”

Gabriel grunted in agreement. “We'll figure this out and hopefully make sense of all it. Look at it this way, even our questions are all things we didn't know last year at this time. Maybe if we press on, there’ll be one less cold case on the books— and you can start living again.”

“You’re right. I know you're right. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating though.”

“You’re doing fine. You’ll make it through. You are proving to be stronger than I would have given you credit for just six months ago.”