Serial Separation (9 page)

Chapter 23

There was a loud bang on the door. “Jeremy—call for you downstairs.”

He rushed to the phone in the lobby area. “Hello—this is Jeremy.”

“JJ, its Dottie.”

“Hi, honey. Are you at your parents’?”

“Yes, my dad picked me up. The roads are very bad, and I don’t want you to try to make it. What about tomorrow?”

“It was senseless to try this afternoon. Some of my friends here returned shortly after they left, saying the roads were awful. If the roads are clear tomorrow, I’ll try to make it to your parents’. Do you want me to call when I’m leaving?”

“Yes, call me if you’re coming. For now, we will be just staying around and shoveling out. I hope you can make it tomorrow. I’ll just sit on the presents I got you. Did you finish your shopping?”

“Yes, I have it all done.”

“Did you get me what I wanted?”

“What did you want?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

He was slow responding, not knowing what to say. “Why are you saying that?”

“Jeremy, you’ve been somewhere else for some time now. It seemed like you had other things on your mind.”

He didn’t respond to her comment.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’m sure I’ll like whatever you bought me.”

He knew he needed to show her more affection. “Hon, I’ll try to make it to your parents’ tomorrow, and things will be better. I promise.”

He noticed someone hovering around the phone. “You can have the phone when I’m done; I’ll be a few more minutes.”

“Jeremy I think you just want to be away from me. There, I said it, and I’m glad I did. Do you have someone else?”

“NO.”

Neither said anything for a period of time. Then she broke the silence. “Then will you share with me what’s wrong. You’re not the JJ I fell in love with. You’ve been acting strange, and you need to talk with me. I’m trying to understand, but I’m confused. The best Christmas present you could possibly give me is my Jeremy back.”

“I’ll try my best to be my old self. I don’t have anyone else, and I love you. I’m sorry I’ve worried you, but there’s nothing wrong between us.”

She talked about some things going on at her parents’, and plans for New Year’s. He used the time to think about how bad the situation had become. He loved her, and if he wasn’t careful, he would lose her.

He thought about his scars, wondering how to explain what happened to him and whether she would even believe him.

If they went away over New Year’s he had to explain things before then, or run the risk of an embarrassing confrontation. He was only partially paying attention to her now, his mind drifting to the murdered men.
What was the connection to the hockey league? Why was he kidnapped and almost killed?
His thoughts were interrupted.

“Jeremy, are you listening to me? This is what I’m talking about. One minute you’re here and the next I can’t tell if you’re still on the line.”

“Just a minute, Dottie. Yes, you can have the phone; I will be off in just a minute. Go ahead, hon.”

“Go ahead and what, hon? Did you just hear me?. I want my JJ back. Merry Christmas.”

The receiver clicked in his ear, followed by the dial tone. That emphasized the scope of the problem.

Chapter 24

The trip was a ride from hell. Shortly, she would be at her parents’ house. She laughed. “When was hell like this—cold, windy, snowy, and freezing rain? Who knows? Maybe we have it all wrong.” Regardless, she was feeling lucky to have made the trip, but she never expected it to be this bad.

How can those weather men keep their job since they fail to predict what is going to happen? Sometimes just looking outside will tell how wrong their predictions are. They should call themselves the ‘whether men,’ which ties to their lame predictions.

She gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She could barely see the road; the wipers were continually freezing with ice. Her hand was numb from reaching out the window to snap the ice from the wipers. She slid sideways more than she would ever tell her parents. She even slid through intersections against the lights.

She was concerned Scott was not going to make it either, which was why she was so worked up. The drive gave her time to think about Scott. She was concerned that men he knew were being killed. Her ordeal was enough for one lifetime; she could not handle another.

Not much further, but it was getting more slippery. Her fear was the street leading from the traffic circle up East Derry Road would be a beast. If the road was not sanded, the hill leading to her parents’ would be a real challenge. She wished there was another way, but, unfortunately, they lived on a hilltop. All this driving, and, with her luck, some idiot might be blocking the road.

She knew her parents would now be worried about her. She could taste a drink, or maybe she would have several. If Scott is there, will he want to be close? She could always use her parents as an excuse to prevent Scott from being with her.

A year ago, she remembered not needing any excuse to make mad passionate love . . . she would have been the first to say ‘to hell with my parents.’ She thought about those precious moments, but Jimmy’s image ruined her thoughts. She could feel tears running down her cheeks. She was having more trouble seeing the road.

She slipped around the rotary and gave it more gas to get some speed to make it up the long hill.
Oh no, not that
. She could see yellow lights flashing off trees. She knew it was a snow plow coming down the hill. The plow’s bright lights created a horror scene.

She tried not to look at the lights, staring at the side of the road. She must have closed her eyes for a second, hearing the truck roar past. It sounded like it hit her car, but it was just sand being thrown against it. She was glad they missed each other, but she quickly thanked the truck driver.

She could finally see the road again, and there was sand covering it. Thanks to those plow guys, she felt she could now make it up the hill.

Then it hit her . . . how was she going to get through the snow at the end of the driveway?

She had another mile to go, giving her time to plan her strategy. Her parents would not have had time to shovel the end of the driveway. She knew if she stopped she would never get into the driveway. She decided it would be better to try to gun the old Pontiac through any pile and take her chances.

She knew her mom would be worried about her even though she had called earlier to let her know she was making progress. She was still overdue, but even if that wasn’t the case, her Mom would still be worried … that was Mom. Her dad . . . well, he was Dad. He had his hands full with Mom and would just let things take their course. She loved them both, but they were two different people.

She thought about her mom . . . she had the brains in the family. She was the one that established the summer camp and made the real dough. Her dad worked in technology and his salary paid the bills, but it was because of her mom’s money that they were able to afford the better things—and the reason her college education was paid.

She thought of her friends, most of whom could not afford college. They weren’t that lucky. Scott was lucky his folks had put money aside for his college education. It still amazed her that farm folk could put enough aside to provide Scott with a Harvard education. She started to think about Scott, but she could see the mailbox at her parents’ driveway.

Okay, like they say in the films—lights, cameras, action. She could barely see the outline of the driveway, and the plow had skirted the hydrant. The result was the plowed snow was spread out on the road. However, she knew she needed to get up more speed to get through the plowed snow, and enough momentum to climb the driveway.

She hit the plowed piles; the car groaned and leaped. She could see her headlights flashing on the circular drive, or what looked like it, but she had no time to react other than to gun it. The tires protested and slipped on the unpaved drive. She said a prayer but had no memory of the several seconds it took to reach the top of the drive. They don’t make cars nowadays like they used to.

She skidded to a slow stop where she thought the garage entrance was hiding. The wipers were banging in rhythm with her heart, and she could see the steam from all the snow she pushed under the car.

She was amazed by her accomplishment. It wasn’t determination, mostly fear of what would happen if she had not made it to her parents’ house.

* * *

Lisa turned the car off. The engine rattled and chugged like it wanted to continue the battle. Kid, we’re two of a kind. She shut off the lights, grabbed the stuff she could carry, heading to the covered, front-door portico. She had an idea of how bad it was outside, but the wind and blowing snow mixed with rain was biting. No slips, no falls make a girl happy and thirsty. She felt like she’d already had too many drinks.

Before she could find her key, the door opened, and there was Mom standing with a glass of eggnog.
Just love her style.

“You have no idea just how glad I am to be here!”

“I was wondering if you were going to make it. Dad just kept saying not to worry; you would be here sooner or later. How did you ever make it up East Derry Road?”

“Mom, when I needed it most . . . God sent me a plow. I hadn’t seen any on the roads, saw traces, but coming up the hill about a mile from here was this yellow monster—my savior.”

She reached for the eggnog. “I have to ask—Scott’s not here is he?”

“No, hon. He called earlier and said he was not able to make it due to the storm. He wished us all a Merry Christmas and left a phone number where they were staying in Topsfield.”

She considered what she heard. “Did you say Topsfield?”

“Yes, hon, that’s what he said—Route One.”

She wanted to say it, but held her tongue.
What’s he doing on Route One in Topsfield, and who are they?

“Did you say ‘they’?”

Chapter 25

The pine scent brought back boyhood memories of Boy Scout camp. The rustic cabins had bare wood, and when I closed my eyes I could see our bunk beds and the knots in the pine. However, it was tough to close my eyes. I tried not to study Mercedes consuming the cold meal, but she was like a painter’s canvas with many contrasts. It was hard to take it all in.

She made me feel uncomfortable from the moment I met her. Now alone with her, I could study her more closely. What I saw was a beautiful flower thriving for the sun of attention. She craved it, and the more she received, the brighter she seemed to reflect the light.

We didn’t talk, but I knew she knew I was examining her. The way she ate her food was slow and deliberate, her red nails hypnotizing. I expected she may have been uncomfortable, but I was glad to have company. I think I would have given up driving in the storm earlier if she hadn’t been with me.

“Scott, you seem to be bothered by something. Have I done something wrong?”

“No, Mercy, you haven’t done anything wrong. I was just thinking about the drive here. I would have stopped long ago if you weren’t with me.”

“I’ll have to admit I was very nervous on that last stretch of road. It is hard to believe you were able to get us here safely—but I’m glad you did.” She looked like she wanted to add something more, so I kept quiet.

“Do you think its fate that we’re here together like this?”

Her question caught me off guard. I had to think quickly before answering. She added, “I make you uncomfortable, don’t I?”

I took a deep breath and looked into her eyes, but I noticed her lips curl.

“Yes.”

She leaned back in her chair. I wanted to ask her what she was thinking about, but decided against it.

“Scott, I don’t think you should feel uncomfortable. Since you gave me an honest answer, and we have some time on our hands, I want to share some secrets with you.” She paused, adding, “Don’t worry . . . you might even enjoy what you hear. Do you want to know, or should I keep it to myself?”

I used the last of my food to evaluate the consequences. “Why don’t I get the fire started?”

“That’s a great idea.”

* * *

While I did my thing with the fireplace, Mercedes turned on the TV and looked out the window at the storm. “The snow is still coming down, and your car is just a big white lump.”

I turned to her voice. She was facing me, leaning with her hands behind her against the window sill. I wish I had a camera to capture the striking pose, but my memory will never forget it. One could have hours of conversation and not have said what she said in that moment. I could feel my face flushing and turned to light the fire.

“We might want to see if we can hear a weather report on the TV.” It struck me that if we couldn’t get out of here tomorrow; we didn’t have enough money for another night’s stay.

She came over and spread the afghan out beside the hearth, knelt beside me, and just watched the fire as it came alive. Neither one of us said anything, but her question was still hanging out there. It took a few minutes of patient attention to get it going, but soon we heard snapping, the orange glow lighting up the room.

“Scott . . . I found you attractive from the moment I met you in Paddy’s office. I had done some research on the earlier task force and learned about you and your involvement.”

I glanced at her, and she seemed to be welcoming the opportunity to get it out.

“I had pictured what you would look like, but when I first saw you I was shocked at how much more handsome you were. During those first few moments, I decided to have you notice me. I could tell you were looking at me, and I could see you trying to focus elsewhere. Would you like me to stop?”

Again, she was asking questions, increasing my vulnerability.

“No.”

It was interesting getting her impression of our meeting.

“I know you saved your girlfriend’s life from that other killer . . . what was his name?”

“Jimmy. Jimmy Ballou.”

I was now able to get the first log on the fire, but I still had to pay attention to it.

“Weren’t you scared?”

I had put the details of that event out of my mind, but her question brought the images back.

“I wasn’t thinking about being scared or the danger. I needed to act quickly. It all happened so suddenly, it’s a blur now.”

“Do you think about the recent murders?”

“As a matter of fact, I can’t seem to get the images out of my mind. I think about what these guys went through and the horror of it.”

“Why, do I make you uncomfortable?”

Her sudden change of topics threw me. It took me a moment to answer. “Mercy, it’s hard for me to talk to you about this. My only—what’s the word I’m looking for—intimate relationship has been with Lisa. I fell in love with her almost from the moment I met her. We first met the day President Kennedy was assassinated. We were more vulnerable that day, but I guess in hind sight it was meant to happen.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I know, and I’m trying to get to it.” I felt exposed without answering her question.

She studied me. “I know the answer, Scott. I guess I like pushing your buttons. I’m like a hunter and you’re my prey. Seeing you react . . . is like the thrill of the hunt.”

Her frank words concerned me, so I reached for another log. She grabbed my arm, and when I looked at her I could see tears in her eyes.

“Scott, I’ve had no one to love. I was so focused on getting into Harvard and getting good marks that I missed growing up. I had one infatuation period, but that passed like a bad dream.”

She let go of my arm, and I added the log to the fire, and the sparks flew in all directions.

“Why are you sharing this with me?” I asked.

She looked like a lost puppy, but she didn’t answer. I gave her more time.

“Now it’s you asking the tough questions.” She fiddled with the corner of the afghan. “Let me try . . . this seems so right . . . you’re a caring person. I guess I feel if I didn’t talk to you now, I would miss my chance to tell you. Right now, I feel like the hunter who is staring at his game, regretting having ever hunted . . . I wish I could change so much, but it is too late.”

I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her to my chest. I just held her tightly, and I could feel her quietly sobbing. Bizarrely, I didn’t feel that uncomfortable.