Chapter 21
He woke uneasy. Some action needed to be taken, but the prospects were a blank. He turned over on his opposite side, plumped the pillow, and tried to get back to sleep but it didn't work. The clock glowed 7:15. He rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom, peered at himself in the mirror.
"What now, fella?" No answer. He brushed his teeth and shaved, combed his hair and checked the medicine cabinet to see if he had any pills he was supposed to take. There was only aspirin in there, and a prescription bottle of Vicodin. It was out of date.
Footsteps creaked overhead, and he looked up at the ceiling. Carrie had said her study was in the attic, so she was already at work. Unless they had mice. He got dressed and went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. There was a cereal bowl and spoon in the sink.
The stairs to the attic ran up from the hall, and he took his coffee and stood at the foot. He decided to say good morning, but not stay to get in her way. Mounting the stairs, he called out, "Carrie, okay if I come up for just a minute?"
Her head peeked over the banister at the top. "Come ahead. I'm just getting started." At the top of the stairs he looked around the room. The peaked ceiling sloped down so that the walls were less than five feet high at the perimeter, except for two dormer windows. Carrie's desk was in the window that overlooked the back yard. A laptop computer with a document open on the screen, and a folder of papers, sat on its surface. Low bookcases lined one outside wall, and a folding table was set up against the partial wall that ran next to the stairwell, with papers lined up in neat piles along its length. More papers were stacked on the floor along another wall. There was a rocking chair in the opposite dormer, facing the front of the house, and next to that, a little table piled with precariously stacked books, and a gooseneck lamp. A dark blue meditation pillow atop a square pad covered in black fabric was in one of the corners, and a graceful white Asian statue of a woman in flowing garb sat on a tiny red enameled table next to it. The figure was seated cross-legged, one hand palm up in front of her chest and the other reaching down to touch a finger to the ground. There was an incense burner too, holding a stick with the end glowing, and its heady, spicy scent hung in the air. In spite of the plethora of papers, there was a sense of steadiness and calm in the room. It was the same sense that he'd felt in Carrie.
She cocked her head. "Anything new? I keep thinking you might wake up with all of it back."
"No, afraid not. Well, this is nice up here. It looks like you, sort of peaceful and quiet, but organized. Not at all like the back seat of your car."
"Oh, I was up early. Everything from the back seat office is here now." She waved to indicate the neat stacks of paper on the floor along a wall.
"I could have helped you. I'm sorry I wasn't up."
Carrie waved at the upstairs space. "Does this room look familiar at all? It was your playroom when you and Elaine were kids."
Brian looked around again, with a different eye, trying to bring it back. He shook his head ruefully. "I wish it did. It looks like it would be a fun place for a kid."
Carrie shot him a sympathetic smile. "What are you going to do today? I'm afraid I'm tied up here until the afternoon, at least. Maybe we should do something later. Go out to dinner or something."
"Well, I'm not company that you have to entertain and you have things you have to do. I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll go for a run around the neighborhood, try to get my bearings."
"Take our address with you. I don't want to have to track you down again!" She picked up a file card from the table and scribbled the address on it, and looked a little embarrassed as she handed it to him. "I'm acting like an overprotective mother."
He looked her up and down. She was wearing an oversized man's shirt that hung to just above her knees, over black leggings. The shirt sleeves were rolled up, and the first buttons of the shirt open to reveal the lace of her bra.
"You're definitely not my mother." God, he was such a lecher; he shouldn't be pushing this way. He remembered the vision of her last night.
She looked surprised, or maybe confused, for just a second and then recovered. "Go," she said, "I've got work to do."
A run was what he needed. He was physically antsy and felt the need to pace. Part of it was that there was something he was putting off. He had to check his cell for messages. He didn't want to. He dreaded hearing Katherine's voice again, and he knew it had to be there, waiting for him, like a ghost in the closet, ready to go "Boo!" This was the part of his missing life that he didn't want to recover. He wanted it to disappear.
He got dressed in his workout clothes and put on his running shoes, then he went to the kitchen and refilled the coffee cup to postpone listening to the messages. He sipped his coffee, staring out the window. The sky was blue again this morning, with clouds in the distance over the land the other side of the bay. Most of the leaves were gone from the trees at the bottom of the yard, and there was a garden patch, finished for the year, with collapsed brown and yellow foliage in neat rows, soggy and melting in place. He could dig it up and turn the soil if the weather held. He wondered whether he was the gardener or Carrie was. Maybe it was something they did together. That would be nice.
Then he made himself go back to the bedroom. He clicked the door shut behind him, then flipped open the cell phone, turned it on and pressed the button for messages. The computerized voice told him he had seven. Tightened jaw, deep breath. He accessed them one by one.
Yesterday, 9:05 a.m. "I'm at work and you're not here yet. Where are you? You haven't returned my calls. There must be something the matter. Call me!"
Yesterday, 9:45 a.m. "What is going on? I went by your door and Lou and Jason are in there tearing your office apart. Call me right away. Did something happen? Have you been in an accident? Is it Carrie? Is it the baby? Are you all right? I'm going to call the hospital. Call me as soon as you get this message, okay?"
Yesterday, 11:45 a.m. "Brian, I'm really worried now. You could at least call to tell me what's happening. Oh God, maybe you've been hurt or something. It's making me crazy not to know. I can't get any work done, I'm so upset. Lou has been stomping around like a lunatic. He's got Jenna in with him in his office now. Jason's been working at your desk all morning. I'm going home to my apartment for lunch. Meet me there if you get this message."
Yesterday, 1:30 p.m. "Brian, I called the hospital and they don't have anyone named Edwards there. I followed Jenna to the restroom but she wouldn't tell me anything. I know I'm not supposed to talk about you to anyone, but I couldn't help it. She said you were fine and not to worry about it, because it wasn't any of my business. She's such a bitch. I almost told her how much it's my business. Don't worry-I didn't say anything. I was very polite. But if you're fine, why don't you call? Don't leave me out of your life, Brian. I love you!"
Yesterday, 4:30 p.m. "This has been the worst day of my life. I don't know whether to be angry or scared. My boyfriend disappears off the face of the earth and no one will tell me anything and he won't call me. Don't I mean anything to you at all?"
Her voice was dull and grim. Then the next to last message:
Yesterday, 7:00 p.m. "I drove by your house on the way home. Everything looked normal from the outside. The lights were on, and Carrie's clunker was in the driveway. I didn't see your car. Maybe it was in the garage. I swear, I'm going to find out what's happening if I have to come to the door and ask. How would you like that? If you're not unconscious or something you'd better call me."
And finally:
Yesterday, 10:00 p.m. "I'm sitting in my car across the street from your house. All the lights are off. I don't know if you're in there. I want so much to come and ring the doorbell. But don't worry, I won't. I'm sorry about how I sounded earlier. I was just upset. I'll be good. Just please call me."
Brian sat frozen on the edge of the bed, his hand gripping the cell phone as if he could kill it that way. He had almost deleted the messages, but something told him to wait. He would have to list
en again to be sure he understood what he was dealing with. He threw the phone across the bed and sank his head in his hands, level with his knees. Keep breathing. She had been out there in the dark, just across the street, when he'd said goodnight to Carrie the second time, the time when she was in her nightgown.
A creepy, jittery feeling had spread down his spine, starting from his neck, and now even his hands tingled. He thought about the progression of the messages, the way they had escalated. The way they shifted in mood, tone of voice. She wasn't an imaginary problem any more. He had definitely stepped in something.