Meadowlarks 3 : Endless (22 page)

“Weston! Talk to us!” Another says.

I blink at the camera in my face. How do they know who I am? I look at Andrew, he shakes his head before grabbing hold of my arm.

We push through the siege of people and into the building.

It’s white. Clinical. Sterile. But it’s no hospital.

It’s a morgue. I can tell. I can
feel
the death.

“You don’t have to do this. Hell, they probably won’t even let you in anyway,” Andrew says, walking beside me.

“I want to see her.”

“Weston,” Neil says. “I didn’t tell you what happened.” He’s choking on tears again.

“Don’t,” Andrew growls. “We can’t do this, Weston. I can’t let you in there.”

I push past him and attempt to turn the handle on the door marked MORGUE in bold red letters.

“It’s secure. You can’t just waltz in.”

I glare at Andrew. “Then get me the fuck in there.”

Andrew pushes a button near the door. “Andrew Lindon with A.L. Inquest. Jerry, you in there?”

A voice rumbles low over the speaker. “Drew, I’m here. I was given explicit instructions to have no one in. Police orders.”

“Come out then, Jerry. For a second.”

A click. A door opens, and a tall, thin, balding man steps out wearing a dark blue pair of scrubs. The name badge pinned to his shirt says Jerry Smith, LVPD Coroner.

I’m not sure how much time passes from when Jerry steps out of the room, to when I fall to the ground and pass out. I don’t dream of anything. All I can see is black. There are no visions of Leah. Nothing. Simply, nothing. Something cold is placed on my forehead and I can hear distant words and snaps of fingers.

“Casey? You okay, man? Jeez.”

I blink my eyes open. “I’m fine.”

“Can you sit, Mr. Casey?” Jerry asks.

Neil and Andrew help me to my feet, then over to a chair. I sit.

“Please let me see her.” I lean down with my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands. “Or I’ll kick that fucking door down.”

“Mr. Casey…Miss Marshall was,” Jerry says quietly. “…burned. You shouldn’t. You can’t see her. I’m sorry. The answer is no.”

Visions of the smoke from the club fire, the burned shoes, and my beautiful Leah pour in my head and I almost lose it again. “NO!” I hear myself screaming.

Somewhere between the time Jerry tells me she’s really dead. Burned. And then time when her mother shows up, I’m basically just sitting and staring off into space.

Neil rushes to Leah’s mother and wraps his big, tattooed arms around her. They both cry, and sob. Her mother screams, and Neil tries to keep her on her feet as her body crumples like a tissue in his embrace.

Jerry won’t let her in to see Leah either. He does bring out a bracelet that she was wearing, and her charred wallet. Leah’s mother screams again. And I scramble to grab the trash can just across the hallway so I can throw up into it. My heart, my soul…my everything, is gone.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Leah’s mother asks quietly, placing her hand on my shoulder.

I wipe off my mouth and look up at her. Embarrassed. I nod.

“She told me about you.” Her mother’s lip trembles. “I’m Olivia.”

I stand and hug her. She looks just like Leah. Just older, shorter, but the same face and eyes. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m so sorry.”

Olivia doesn’t say anything back. She just hugs me, and cries again.

***

They say you only get one real love. One real heart-stopping, mind-altering,
forever
, type of love. Leah was mine. I know she was. I don’t want anything or anyone now. She was it for me.

I stand in the bathroom, after my scalding shower. Only knowing it was scalding because I didn’t even turn the cold water on. My skin didn’t register the pain. I was numb. I was probably going to be fucking numb forever. I don’t care.

I stare into the mirror. My chest bruised from Riley’s fists.

She pounded, and cried, and screamed and pounded me some more when she got to Vegas. I let her. I just stood there and let her. If she had a knife, I’d probably have begged her to stab me with it.

Somehow I manage to dress. I can’t go to the airport in nothing but a towel. Putting on clothes is painful. Smiling hurts. I don’t even remember what it feels like to smile. Or speak. I haven’t done that in a few days either. Only a few random nods or head shakes when Andrew asked me something.

I haven’t seen Neil. Or any of her friends. Not even her mother. When Riley and the redhead, Addison, got to town they stayed with Olivia. They’re all flying back to Maine for Leah’s funeral together.

Andrew drives me to the airport. I think I thanked him. He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll be okay, Casey. Give it time.”

He’s wrong. I won’t be okay. And I’m
okay
with that. I think I’ll just go back to Wyoming and lay in that meadow behind Pine Ridge until I rot.

***

“When Leah and I were six, we snuck into the bathroom and cut each other’s hair. I remember convincing her it was a great idea, and that I promised to make her hair look just like a Barbie’s. She believed me.” Riley laughs, wiping a tear. “Our mom’s screamed when they saw our hacked off bangs and jagged bowl-cuts. We just laughed. “Hair grows, mama,” Leah had said at the time. I still have the picture they took of us that day.”

Addison stood to Riley’s left, and two other brunettes stood on her right. I don’t know who they are, but they obliviously loved Leah too.

“Leah loved life. She loved everything about it. She loved making people smile, and laugh. She was the most selfless person I’ve ever met. Our lives will be forever changed. They say only the good die young. Well, those words couldn’t be truer. Leah was good, the greatest…the absolute best, and I will miss her and love her for the rest of my life. I love you, girl.” Riley leans her head down on Addison’s shoulder, and they surround her, hugging her.

I stare blankly at the wooden casket. It’s beautiful and ornate. Unbelievable actually, considering what rests inside of it. A photo of Leah rests in a beautiful frame atop of the casket. Surrounded by sprays and bunches of flowers. “Daughter” is embroidered on a banner across a large arrangement of white and pink Calla Lily’s.

Olivia is unable to speak, she hasn’t stopped crying.

A few more people get up to talk about Leah. I tune them out. I simply sit and stare at her photo. Her beautiful face, that smile—those eyes that once looked at me so lovingly. Those lips that said the words to me. She loved me. I didn’t deserve her.

I couldn’t go to the reception. It was at Leah’s mother’s house. The thought of being in the home that Leah grew up in, slept in, laughed in, lived in…made me sick to my stomach.

It was hard enough being in her hometown.

I’m staying at a small B&B in town until my flight leaves tomorrow morning. I have to go back to New York and somehow function as CFO at Montedesco. As much as I want to curl up into a ball and die, I can’t let Josh down.

Falling on the bed, still in my suit, I lay and look at the popcorn ceiling. The recessed lights dimly lit, illuminating the small room.

“It’s Leah! You know what to do…”

I’m sorry, the mailbox you’re trying to reach is full. Please try again later.

“I love you,” I whisper. The message unsent, but I had to say it anyway.

My phone rings just as I drop it from my hand. I sit up and smile, for a split second thinking it’s Leah calling me back. Deep down, I know it isn’t.

“Hello?” I ask, my voice gravely.

“West? You sound awful.”

“What do you want, Elsa?”

She’s the last person I want to talk to right now.

“I wanted to speak to you about your agency here…”

“I hate you. I don’t want to talk to you about jack-shit. Fuck off, leave me alone...just…go away, Elsa.”

I hear her sigh loud and melodically. “You’re so dramatic. What’s your problem anyway? Listen, I have an offer you won’t be able to refuse. You’ll call me back or better yet, fly home to Sheridan and I can tell you in person. Capiche?”

“Drop dead.”

Her wicked chuckle is the last thing I hear as I hang up on her.

***

Jo, my receptionist, brings me a coffee just after I get to the office. I force a smile and thank her as I set the mug down. Leaning back in the chair, I turn and look out in the New York skyline. It’s beautiful, actually. I remember being in this chair with Leah…touching and tasting her. Making love to her.

It’s been one week since she…died. Died. It’s still hard to say, let alone think about. But, somehow I’ve been managing to shower and dress and eat. If you consider only consuming cereal and coffee
eating
.

“It’s Leah! You know what to do…”

I’ve called her a million times. Just to feel the temporary calm from the sound of her voice. Those seven words are all I can take though. I can’t listen to her music, I can’t watch her videos. Especially since that fucker, Lucas, put that video of her singing “If I Die Young” on the Internet and it went viral. He’s a real piece of shit. I regret not knocking him out that day.

“You shouldn’t have come in today,” Josh says, peeking into my office. “I told you to take time. This isn’t time. You’re torturing yourself.”

I shrug. “If I sit around anywhere else I’ll go crazy, Josh. At least here I have something to do.”

“Okay, well…I just wanted to tell you I’m here. I know I’m not exactly the best at emotions and sentimental shit, but you’re my bro and if you need to talk, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, man.” I don’t want to talk, though. I do appreciate his offer, regardless.

Josh leaves, and I pick up the steaming mug of coffee to sip. Just as my lips hit the heat, I sputter the coffee all over my desk.

“Capiche! Holy shit…Ca-
fucking
-piche!”

I jump from my chair and grab my cellphone.

“Soloman.”

“Detective, it’s Weston Casey. Elsa Lawrence. Elsa fucking Lawrence. Sheridan Wyoming,” I say each word, enunciating the syllables so he understands my words.

“Mr. Casey…slow down.”

“Elsa Lawrence. Is my ex-wife. She killed Leah. I fucking know it. Please, detective, help me.”

Soloman says the Vegas police are on Leah’s case, but he’ll call and let them know to look into Elsa.

“Don’t go all vigilante on me now, Weston.”

“I can’t promise you anything.” I was being honest.

I end the call and open my travel app. The confirmation email that my flight to Sheridan is booked makes me smile. The only time I’ve smiled since Leah died.

***

Hunter

(Yes, that’s right. You read that correctly…)

I knew one thing about Elsa Lawrence. She was a snake in the grass. A temptress. A succubus. She coiled around me like a python and struck me like a viper.

How stupid could I have been to fall into her little trap? A plaything, a muse. That’s all I was to her. A distraction after her husband was lucky enough to divorce her. I fell hard and fast for her delicious sex appeal. That cougar-thing really gets to you when you’re young and fucking stupid.

She dropped me like a hot potato when she caught sight of a new piece of meat. I remember walking into the backyard at her house, seeing him, barely eighteen, cutting the lawn. She was sprawled on a chair, even in the cool fall air, wearing nothing but a smile and a sunhat.

I’m surprised he didn’t run over his own fucking foot when he backed up the mower. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was seconds away from getting caught in her web. And she was primping herself, ready to strike and suck the life out of him.

I turned, without either of them seeing me, and left. I may be young, but I’m no idiot and I won’t be played for a fool. I saw the look on her ex-husband’s face. He was hurt by her. I’ll be damned if she is going to do that to me. No way was I going to invest years into her either.

I shrugged off the suit she bought me, threw it on the floor, and dressed in my own clothes. Slightly feeling like myself again. I backed my truck right into the side of her car when I was leaving the driveway. A small smile curled on my lips. She loves that car. And I love four-by-four’s with no-nonsense power.

How perfect was the moment when Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It” came on the radio as I flew down the road that day. I screamed the lyrics and smacked the steering wheel with my fingers.

I knew my next step was to find Weston Casey. I know I didn’t ruin their marriage—that was long over before I came into the picture—but, I needed to tell him I was sorry. I also needed to warn him that Elsa was acting all kinds of fucking weird about some country singer. I didn’t know who she was, but Elsa was gone on a “business trip” right around the same time the band was playing at some club in New York that caught fire.

I knew it was her. It had to have been. I also knew she burned down Weston’s first property. She came home smelling like smoke.

“I went for a walk after work. Someone was having a bonfire, the smoke must have travelled to the sidewalk.”

“Bullshit,” I muttered. At the time finding her story odd but not giving it another thought. Of course, until I heard about the building in Buffalo getting torched.

Getting an interview at Weston’s new agency was a piece of cake. I walked in, and smiled at the black-haired bombshell and said I wanted a job. Riley, her name was, had been an employee of Elsa’s, but quit to work for Weston.

That should have tipped me off right there. If Elsa was so great, Riley wouldn’t have left. That, or she was fucking Weston. But, she wore a wedding ring. I doubt all married people are cheaters. Riley was gorgeous…I mean, hot damn. Elsa who?

I smiled, charmed, got an interview…and asked her out to dinner. She laughed, and wiggled that damn ring in my face. “Married, sweetheart.” She giggled. “But, thank you for the offer…You’re adorable. Come back on Tuesday for your interview.”

I’d scrub the damn toilets if I got to work around her. I did have a license to sell real estate, I got it fresh out of college. That’s how I met Elsa, actually. But, to this day, I’ve ever sold a thing. I think I just got it to shut my parents up. To make them happy that their son actually did something with his life, even if I fucked my knee and couldn’t play football anymore.