Level Five (7 page)

             
“You’re right.  I’ve never heard him mention a woman and at his age that should be all he’s talking about.”  The second man was Sam Greer, also from accounting.

             
Anthony’s heart began to rap an unsteady rhythm and his stomach clenched with a painful spasm. Were they talking about him?  God, he didn’t want anyone gossiping about him, speculating on his personal life. 

The last thing he wanted was to be seen as different or strange, not that Anthony believed gay people were particularly strange. He just didn’t want anyone wondering about his private life.

              “You know he dyes his hair,” Sam said.

             
Bob snorted a laugh.  “Well, no shit, Sherlock.  You really think that tiger-stripe could be natural?”

             
Anthony sagged in relief as the two men finally left the bathroom. It was the new hire in development they’d been talking about, not him.

             
He left the stall and washed his hands at the sink. He stared at his reflection in the mirror.  It could have been you, a little voice whispered in the back of his head. They could have easily been talking about him.

             
He was still worried about image and perceptions as he made his way back to his tiny cubicle. He sat at his desk and stared blankly at his computer monitor. 

What did people say about him behind his back?  Did people wonder why
he
never talked about women he’d dated. The men in the office spent an inordinate amount of time boasting about their sexual encounters, but Anthony never added to the conversations.

             
He’d had a brief sexual relationship when in college with a fellow student named Amanda.  As far as he was concerned sex was vastly over-rated. He’d never felt the desire to connect on a more intimate level with anyone – except the mother who had wrapped her trash and treasures around herself and had ignored her son. 

             
Punishing the projects for his childhood, for the mother who had never loved him gave him both a sexual and a spiritual release that mere sex could never achieve.

             
He’d found his passion in the growing collection in his back yard.  As a computer programmer, part of his job was to be analytical. He didn’t need therapy to know that he was working on childhood issues by taking the women and punishing them for his mother’s sins.  But he also knew that someplace out there was the woman who would transform him, the one who would make him normal. 

In the meantime he was a self-actualized man.  He killed women who looked like the mother he hated. It made him feel good, because it released the enormous knot of rage that occasionally made breathing impossible. It gave him the same kind of euphoric release he assumed other men got from the act of sex.

              Even now just thinking about it had him hard and even though he’d buried his latest the day before, he felt the burn of need in the pit of his stomach.  It gnawed at his guts, setting them on fire. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes in an effort to get control of himself.

             
He had no idea when the right woman would walk into his path.  It could be days or even weeks before he found the special one who could fill his soul, satisfy his needs. He had to stay in control until he had a new project. 

             
“Anthony?”

             
His eyes snapped open and he sat upright, for a moment still caught in the grip of the monster of his desire. Susan Springer stood at his doorway, clutching a small pink paper plate holding a couple of cookies.

             
“I brought in some homemade cookies this morning and put them in the break room, but I noticed I hadn’t seen you in there yet so I thought I’d bring you a couple.”

             
“Thanks, Susan.”  He took the plate from her as his mind whirled with possibilities. Susan stirred nothing in him, no passion, no anger, and no emotion what-so-ever.  That made her perfect for what he needed.

             
He picked up one of the cookies and took a bite.  “Hmm, chocolate chip are my favorite. You’re a good cook.”

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure.  “Thanks and they aren’t just those slice and bake kind that you buy at the store.  I made them from scratch.” 

He reared back in his seat and forced a smile at her.  “You know, I’ve been thinking maybe it would be nice if you could have dinner with me this Friday night.  I know a great Italian restaurant in the Zona Rosa shopping area.”

             
Stunned surprise danced across her slightly plump features. “Just you and me?”  The color in her cheeks deepened.

             
He forced another smile and nodded.  “I believe it’s called a date…unless you aren’t interested.” 

             
“Oh, I’m interested,” her voice was half-breathless.  “I’d love to have dinner with you Friday, Anthony.”  She said his name as if it were a prayer.

             
“Great.  Why don’t I pick you up at your place around seven?”  There had been no doubt in his mind that she’d agree to the date.  She’d been sniffing around him like a bitch in heat for months.  He would have to be a dead man not to see her interest in him.

             
“Seven would be fine…perfect.  Do you have my address?”

             
“I’ll figure it out between now and Friday,” he replied.  He was done with her now and just wanted her to go away, to get out of his space. “Thanks for the cookies,” he said.  “And now I’ve got to get back to work.”

             
“Of course,” she replied as she backed away.  “I’ll talk to you later.” 

             
He breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared from the doorway.  Instead of focusing on his work, he thought about the date night to come.

             
He could do this.  He could be a charming dinner date.  He could be a good boyfriend to Susan as long as she understood that she’d never be invited to his home.  She’d never really be a part of his life.  She was his beard, a disguise that would make him appear normal to his co-workers. 

             
He picked up another cookie from the plate and chewed with relish.  It was perfect.  She was perfect and if she failed to live up to his expectations then he wasn’t completely averse to adding a blond to his collection of mommy look-alikes in his backyard.

Susan stood in front of her closet, staring at the contents in dismay.  There was nothing…absolutely nothing that was adequate…no, there was nothing that was absolutely perfect for her first date with Anthony.

              First date with Anthony.  The words shot a tremulous thrill through her.  She’d wanted this for so long, had dreamed about it since the moment she’d first met him. She’d pinched herself all day at work to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.  She hadn’t told a soul, not even Peggy.  She’d just wanted to savor it by herself for the day.

             
She still couldn’t believe he’d actually asked her out.  Thank goodness she’d decided to be bold and take a couple of her cookies to him.

             
She flopped on her bed, her mind spinning with fantasies. A vision of his handsome face filled her head.  She was finally going to be with him.  Her dreams were going to come true.  She could feel it in her gut, in her very soul. 

             
A first date would lead to a second, and then a third.  Before she knew it they would be a couple, planning their future together, building a life of happily-ever-after.

             
Reaching into her purse she pulled out her cell phone.  She punched in Peggy’s cell phone number.  “I want you to go shopping with me after work tomorrow.  I need a new outfit for a very special occasion,” she told her friend.

              Edie had just zapped a microwave chicken dinner when her cell phone rang. Her stomach clenched as she saw the caller ID. “I need some cash,” the deep male voice said when she answered.

“There’s nothing here to eat.”

              “Then I’ll bring you groceries,” Edie replied, her stomach still twisted in a painful knot.

             
There was a long pause.  “A twenty would do.”

             
“I’ll bring you some groceries,” she repeated more firmly.

Another long pause.
  “Okay.  When.”

             
Edie looked at her dinner and knew she wouldn’t be enjoying the chicken breast or the mashed potatoes and corn.  Her appetite had completely left her the minute she’d seen the familiar number on the caller ID.  “I’ll be there in about an hour or so.”

             
Minutes later as Edie made her way down the aisles of the nearest Price Chopper grocery store, she thought of all the many paths that had led her to this place at this time.

             
Greg Bernard, the pedophile who had killed Francine had set into motion a chain of events that nobody had been able to forecast at the time.

             
For a year after her sister’s death, Edie had tried to be the best daughter, had tried to somehow fill the hole her sister had left behind.  But, of course it had been an impossible void for anyone to fill.

             
She’d desperately needed somebody to tell her they were glad she was still alive, that she was as important as the daughter that was gone, but that hadn’t happened.

             
In the weeks and months following Francine’s death, Edie’s father had lost himself in booze.  Edie’s mother, Janet had traded grief for a simmering rage that exploded without warning or provocation. Most of those rages were directed at the child who hadn’t been victimized, at Edie, the child who had survived.

             
Then one day Edie woke up and her father told her that Janet was gone.  For the first couple of days Edie breathed a sigh of relief. Peace reigned in the house.  Edie’s dad pulled himself out of the bottle and held strong until Edie graduated high school and entered college. 

Then he completely fell apart. He sold the house and the furniture and household
goods, put all the money in an account for Edie to pay for her college and then he’d disappeared.

             
She grabbed a carton of milk and added it to the items she’d already placed in her cart and tamped down the ancient memories.  She’d learned long ago that nothing was served by dwelling in the past.

             
She was glad Jake wasn’t stopping by tonight.  A weighty depression settled on her shoulders and she knew from experience it would take some time for her to finally slough it off.  She’d be fine by tomorrow when he came to spend the first of the three nights a week they shared.

             
This was one of the reasons she liked her private time. She could deal with the issues that were still ongoing from the trauma so long ago.  She’d always felt that in sharing some of this mess with Jake, she’d just make him one more victim. There were already more than enough to go around.

             
She checked her watch as she stood in the check-out line.  It had taken her longer to get the things than she’d expected. She hoped he was still where he’d been when he’d called, but there were no guarantees.

             
Once she was in her car she headed toward the motel where he’d been staying for the past year thanks to her paying the rent.   

             
The Skylark Motel catered to dope addicts, hookers and down on their luck people who needed a cheap place to flop.  The broken sign out front boasted full kitchenettes, cable television and a heated pool that had years before been filled in with concrete.

             
As she stepped out of the car she imagined her nose was assailed by the scent of vomit and urine and utter hopelessness.  The badly cracked sidewalk that led to the office of the motel spoke of the fact that nobody cared about the people who stayed here.  They were society’s throw-aways, people who had given up on life, on themselves. They had come here to wait for death.

             
The manager was an ex-con who favored filthy undershirts and suffered an instantaneous hearing loss if anyone tried to make a complaint. He hated the world, but especially the cops who occasionally busted one of the units for drug activity or to arrest a suspected felon.

             
She carried three grocery bags as she walked past the office to unit five.  She used her elbow to knock on the door.  The door to unit four flew open and a woman stuck her head out.

             
Eye make-up was smeared dark like bruises beneath her tired eyes and her blond hair was gnarled and showing three inch roots.  Her gaze swept the length of Edie in her crisp sun dress and matching sandals. Edie felt her wave of jealousy, of hatred before the woman slammed the door shut once again.