Apartment 7C (2 page)

“And do you really think a piece of paper will keep him away?”

“If he touches you, comes near you, he’ll be arrested.”

“Then out the next day. He’ll find me and kill me.”

Both women sat in silence. Beth needed to think. Needed to come up with something.

“I’ll never be free,” Marcy said, almost to herself, and closed her eyes.

“Don’t say that.” Beth scooted her chair closer to Marcy. “There are thousands of women across the country like yourself, in the same situation you are in. And every day more and more are getting out of the nightmare, turning their lives around.”

“Yeah?” Marcy said heatedly as she opened her eyes. “And how many of them have people to help them? Family members?— ’cause I have no one.” She slammed a fist down on the table, startling Beth for a moment. “And how many of them have a detective for a husband? No—I’m stuck in this hellhole with the devil himself. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Beth asked.

“Unless one of us dies.”

Beth didn’t like the tone in Marcy’s voice; she appeared hopeless.

“No need to do anything that you’ll regret,” Beth told her. She reached out and cupped Marcy’s jaw. The two women’s eyes met. Beth knew then that Marcy had contemplated suicide at one time or another.

“Kill him and he wins. Kill yourself and he wins.” Beth sat back.

It was getting late. There were still a few hours left before Carl was due home, but Marcy looked all chatted out, tired. Beth didn’t want to push her any further. They’d talked, and hopefully Beth’s visit did some good—showed Marcy that she had someone in her corner. It might take a few visits, but Beth was pretty sure she would get through to her.

Marcy thanked her for the cake and the visit. Said it was nice to be able to talk to someone, which lightened Beth’s heart a little. Marcy told her to take the cake with her, not wanting any evidence that she had had a guest. Beth told Marcy to hang in there and to never again think of hurting herself, or Carl—unless she absolutely had to. They would find a solution together.

Chapter Four

A few hours later, Beth made a small grilled chicken salad for dinner, making sure to get the food down before Carl came home. She was afraid his presence would upset her, churn the acids in her stomach to the point that she wouldn’t be able to eat.

After dinner she sat on the couch and relaxed with a book. Amazingly with everything going on, she was able to concentrate on it, becoming completely absorbed in the story. By the time she looked at the clock, two hours had gone by. She’d purposely kept the TV off, wanting to hear when Carl arrived. But it was 8:00 p.m. and she didn’t remember hearing a thing. Shit, she had no idea if Carl had come home.

After saving her place with a bookmark, Beth placed the novel on the coffee table. She stood, needing to use the bathroom, when a knock sounded at her door. As quietly as possible, she made her way over to it and peered through the peephole, making sure to stand far enough away so that the glass-eye wouldn’t darken, letting the person on the other side know she was there.

It was Carl.

Beth’s breath caught in her chest, her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped open. Crap. He must know. Did Marcy tell him about the conversation they had? Not wanting to find out, Beth attempted to back away, but a creaky floorboard made her presence known.

“Mrs. Baker?” Carl asked. He knocked again softly, as if he were just checking up on her, making sure the little old lady was “all right”. “I know you’re in there.”

She had to make up her mind quickly, be cautious, weary? Ask him what he wanted through the closed door, or open it and act natural, as if she hadn’t a care in the world?

Beth decided on the latter, and unlocked both locks, then opened the door, greeting Carl with a smile.

“Carl,” she said. “How are you? Is everything all right?” Damn it. She was over-doing it. The man’s a cop; he’ll know something’s amiss.

“Mrs. Baker—” he began.

“Call me, Beth,” she said.

“Beth…could we talk inside?”

Beth felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t let this guy inside her apartment. He must know something, know she talked to Marcy. If she let him in he could hurt her. No one would be the wiser, everyone thinking he was hurting his wife. He could snap her neck in a second, killing her quickly and quietly. The whole thing blamed on a home invasion. Maybe he already killed Marcy and was here to kill her. Leave no witnesses.

“I’m just getting ready for bed, dear,” she told him, trying her best to sound natural, even though her heart was pounding against her chest. “And besides…my place is a mess. Could this wait until tomorrow?”

“Please,” he said, almost begging. He seemed like the furthest thing from a monster that beat his wife. “It’s important. It’s about my Marcy.”

Beth was about to tell him no, that he’d have to come back tomorrow, when a loud bang sounded from next door.

Beth jumped.

Carl had a confused look on his face. She could see he was thinking. Then his face went slack as if he’d shit his pants.

“Fuck,” he yelled, looking furious. His face reddened as if he had been holding his breath for too long, and he bolted for his apartment, yelling his wife’s name over and over.

Then the realization of what happened hit Beth like a hard slap to the face.

“No,” she said, her voice cracking as she ran next door and into apartment 7C.

She hurried down the hallway, stopping abruptly just inside the kitchen, forgetting how to breathe again. A goopy mix of skull, blood and brain matter caked part of the wall behind one of the kitchen chairs, streaks of red, like tears, sliding down it. A large chunk of something, no longer able to stick, came away and splatted onto the floor. Carl was leaning over Marcy’s body, holding a pair of fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse, but Beth already knew she was dead. A handgun rested on the floor near the body’s right hand. The back of Marcy’s head had a gaping hole in it, and her blonde hair was mangled with blood. Beth covered her mouth, feeling the contents of her dinner wanting to rise.

“This is Detective Carl Bradley. I need an ambulance at—”

Beth felt woozy and stumbled, catching herself on the wall. She lost all ability to hear as her ears rung loudly. She closed her eyes, steadied herself. As the sound of Carl’s voice came back, she opened her eyes again.

The man was stuffing the cell phone back into a pocket of his jeans. Blood was pooling around Marcy’s corpse, almost at Carl’s feet. Beth thought he looked like a vampire hunched over its victim. He glanced up at Beth who had pushed herself away from the wall toward Marcy’s body.

Carl had said
ambulance.
He needed an ambulance.

“She’s alive?” Beth asked hopefully.

“No, you cunt,” Carl barked.

Beth’s body grew heavy at the news, her hope crushed. Carl’s eyes were locked onto hers. She wasn’t able to look away.

“You did this,” he growled, then stood up fast. “You…”

Beth took a step backward. Her legs were shaking. She was frightened, more so than ever before. A madman—a monster—was standing before her. He looked ready to pounce. To squeeze the life from her. But then she remembered that he had dialed 911. He wouldn’t risk hurting her now—unless he lost control, but Beth wouldn’t do anything to allow that to happen. Tomorrow, when the scene was quiet again, would be another story.

Still locked onto his gaze, Beth wanted to look away—to run—but being the first to flinch, like with a wild animal, could prove dangerous.

“I—” she began.

“You,” he said again, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll get you for this.”

Beth staggered backward as if she’d been struck. When Carl showed no signs of moving toward her, she felt a tinge of heat in her belly. She was getting angry. No way was this guy going to blame her for Marcy’s suicide.

“You’re responsible,” she told him. “You caused this, led that poor girl to kill herself. All the abuse she took. The badgering. She thought she had no way out. She’d rather kill herself than spend another moment with you. And when the paramedics and police get here not even you’ll be able to cover up the bruises. No hiding her away like an embarrassment.”

Just as Marcy’s blood was about to reach Carl’s left foot, he took a menacing step toward Beth, then stopped. Grinning he said, “The dead don’t speak. It’s the word of a decorated detective against a drunk for a wife. A wife with years of mental problems, and all documented.”

“That’s a damn lie. I won’t allow you to ruin her image any more than you already have. I’ll talk. I’ll tell everything I know.”

“You see any abuse?” he asked wryly.

“What?” Beth asked, confused.

“Did you witness any of the abuse?”

Beth thought for a moment. The asshole was right. She hadn’t actually seen anything. “I heard plenty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Baker. Marcy was hard of hearing and kept the volume way up.”

Beth was feeling overwhelmed, flustered. “The marks, the scars.”

“Self inflicted. Oh, and didn’t my wife mention, she was mugged earlier this week. Filed the report myself.”

Shaking, Beth yelled, “You don’t even care that she’s dead, do you?”

Carl rubbed a hand over his head. His eyes widened, his lower lip trembled. Tears filled his eyes. All this happened within seconds.

“I loved my wife,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Yeah—we had problems, but what couple doesn’t?

“She was my soulmate. My one and only. And now she’s gone.” Tears slid down his cheeks.

Beth was taken aback. Startled. The man had to be the best actor in the world. He was certifiable, completely crazy. And even though she knew he had to be lying, she felt her heart grow heavy for the man. But then the sad, heartfelt scene changed. Carl’s eyes grew cold again, and had that predatory appearance. He grinned wickedly.

“How was that?” he asked, proud of himself.

Beth wanted to scream. The individual before her was evil. A true psychopath. “You’re sick,” was all she could muster.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I’ll miss the bitch. Miss having my bed made, house cleaned, food ready when I come home, and my cock sucked whenever I demanded it. She was a great cocksucker. Could fit my whole package in her tight little mouth. Got her to stop gagging after the first few times. At first it was the size, you know? I’m rather large. But then it was the taste of another cunt’s cunt on my cock that she had to get used to. Nothing better than coming home with a dirty dick and have your wife clean it off.”

Beth was speechless.

“That bother you, Mrs. Baker?”

She couldn’t stay there any longer. Couldn’t listen to any more of his filth, his lies, although she knew they were most likely true. She turned to leave, needing to get out like a diver needing to come up for air.

“And that’s why I’m going to get you,” he told her.

Beth stopped, his words sending a chill down her back.

“You took my woman, my bitch, my personal whore. Now I’ll have to start over. Get a new one. Spend hours searching through records until I find the perfect whore to make my own. Some pretty loser with no family. And while I do that I’m going to destroy you.”

Furious, Beth spun around to face him.

“You’re going down, you bastard. I’ll make sure of it.”

“A challenge? I like that. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, get the fuck out of my house!” he roared, and Beth quickly did.

Chapter Five

An hour later, Beth was pacing in her living room, wondering what the hell she was going to do, when a knock on the door startled her. She let out a breath, clutching her chest. It couldn’t be Carl. There was still police activity in 7C. She went over to the door and looked through the peephole.

A man wearing a tan trench coat and sporting a five o’clock shadow stood outside the door. He was holding a small notepad and appeared bored.

“Who is it?” Beth asked.

“The police, ma’am. Just need to ask you a few questions.”

Beth wondered if Carl had sent one of his buddies over to talk to her, see what she would say.

A uniformed officer walked behind the man, heading to apartment 7C. With others around, Beth felt more relaxed about opening the door, and did so.

She met the officer’s eyes. They were hardened from years on the force. They weren’t cold or calculating like Carl’s, but that didn’t mean the guy was okay. The man before her might be one of Carl’s close buddies, maybe even his partner. And if it was one of Carl’s cronies come to check on her, then she needed to play it cool.

“Hello, ma’am,” the detective said, unsmiling.

“Yes?”

“We’re going door to door on this floor, speaking to the residents. See if anyone might know something about what happened.”

“What did happen? I heard she shot herself with her husband’s gun.”

“I can’t get into specifics, ma’am. But a woman is dead over in the next apartment. Can you tell me anything about her, or her husband?”

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I recently moved into the building. I didn’t know the woman very well. A shame really, a pretty young woman doing that to herself. She must’ve been awfully sad.”

“So you didn’t see anything?”

Beth shook her head. “Nope. Just heard a loud bang, like someone popped a balloon.”

The man nodded slightly.

“So you didn’t go next door?” he asked.

Beth’s heart, which was already beating fast, pounded harder. Was this guy testing her? Did he know she was next door? Had Carl said she was? Her brain told her to tell the truth, but she didn’t.

“No. Like I said I figured the loud bang was a balloon or a dropped encyclopedia.”

“Dropped encyclopedia?” the officer asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

The man stood there, saying nothing, as if studying Beth.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m still a little shook up over the fact that my neighbor is dead and I’d like to get to sleep. So is that all then?”

“I thought you didn’t know Mrs. Bradley.”

“I didn’t, but wouldn’t anyone, especially someone my age, be upset over knowing their neighbor committed suicide by blowing their goddamn brains out?”

“Relax, Missus…”

“Baker.”

“Relax, Mrs. Baker. No need to upset yourself.” He looked at the blank notepad in his hand. “Well I guess that’s all for now. Have a nice night.”

Beth closed and locked the door. She then fell against the nearby wall and slid to the floor, trying to catch her breath and calm down. Damn, she thought, and slapped the floor, angry with herself. The detective hadn’t given her his name. Didn’t officers usually do that? Say, “Hello Ma’am, I’m Officer So-And-So.” They always did on television. More proof that the guy was one of Carl’s cronies? Had the man not given his name or shown his badge so Beth couldn’t ID him other than by face? Frustrated and frightened, Beth put her head down and sobbed.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting at her kitchen table. Her hands cupped the sides of her head as her mind raced with images of Alice, Don, Marcy and Carl. All of their faces swirling together.

She got up and waited by the stove while water boiled for tea.

Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, Beth attempted to pour the hot water into the cup and wound up spilling almost as much as went in. Making her way carefully back to the table, she sat, holding the hot cup of tea with both hands, the warmth inviting, secure. But as she brought the mug to her mouth, her hands trembled, splashing the hot liquid over her fingers.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw an image from 7C’s kitchen: Marcy’s slack, dead face. A blink, then: the wall splattered with brains. Another blink, then: Marcy’s dead face again. This went on for a while, shaking Beth to her core. She needed to cry, but for some reason wasn’t able to.