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Authors: Melissa Simonson

Burning September (23 page)

BOOK: Burning September
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***

 

“You need to station someone outside the complex,” Kyle was telling the uniformed police officer who had answered my call while I sat there on the couch feeling like the dumb little girl I kept telling people I wasn’t, but there I was, calling Daddy in to save me, letting him field the bulk of the questions lobbied my way by a bored cop with cynical eyes and a buzz cut.  Some might be annoyed that Kyle had taken it upon himself to be my mouthpiece, but I liked it.  I didn’t want to talk to the officer, anyway.  When had they ever listened to me before? 

“It looks like she scared him off, Mr. Cavanaugh.  If he were intent on harming her, wouldn’t he have done so?  But he just ran off.  It’s probably a prank, but I can check to see whether we can spare a patrol car, though I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” 

“This isn’t the first time her stalker’s made an appearance, and it won’t be the last.  He didn’t harm her yet because he wants to scare her.  It’s some fucked up foreplay or something.”

The officer smacked his notebook against his open palm, watery cow-like eyes swimming in skepticism.  “But she never reported anything to do with the other incidents.”

Kyle donned a patronizing expression, a teacher spoon feeding a D student the answer.  “Would you have done anything about it, based solely on her word?”

“Well, without any real proof—”

“Exactly.”  He threw his hands in the air.  “Your hands would have been tied in all the other encounters, but he was right there this time; she was home when he showed up.  Right outside her door fucking with the main breaker switch,” he said, his voice climbing decibels, “he could have done
anything
to her.  Would you be able to do something about it if he’d raped her?  Would he have to murder her to get your attention?”

The cop cleared his throat, turned to me, sighed.  “Ms. Smirnov, you’ve turned into something of a public figure recently, people know your face, probably recognize you everywhere you go—”

“So she asked for it, that’s what you’re saying? If you hadn’t arrested her sister, none of this would have happened?  Arrested her without a solid shred of evidence, I might point out—”

“I’m saying it could just be teenagers playing pranks, you know what they’re like, we were all teenagers at one point—”

“I’m technically still a teenager,” I cut in from the sofa, like a child refereeing a shouting match between her parents.  “And I wouldn’t do anything like this.”

They spared me a look, as though surprised to realize I could speak. 

“Listen, for now, the most I can do is write up the incident report, maybe try to get a free unit down here to watch the entrance of the B block in the complex.  I’d do more if I could, but without a physical description, there’s not a whole lot to be on the lookout for.  You should call if anything else happens.”

Kyle’s eyes shot sparks as the officer handed me a card and took his leave. 

“Do you have school tomorrow?”  He shut the front door, engaged the deadbolt. 

I buried my face in my hands as I yawned, peeking between the gaps of my fingers.  “Yeah.  In the morning.”

“I have a deposition at nine o’clock, nothing going on later. Call me when you’re out of school, and I can head to Best Buy to pick up those security cameras.  We’ll install them so they’re hidden, let this dickhead think he’s safe.”  He looked at me in a way I wished I could bottle, spritz it on whenever I felt panic rearing its ugly head.  “Are you planning on visiting your sister anytime soon?”

“Day after next.”

“You need to stress to her how important it is that she does this Karen Stone interview.  She sure as hell hasn’t listened to me, but I have a feeling if she knew what went on tonight, she’d change her tune.  The police won’t be able to do anything, nothing substantial, it’s not entirely their fault, but that’s how it is.  A follow up interview with Caroline would be a good way to shoehorn in what’s been going on recently.”  

 

***

 

Spring had almost sprung, if the rain-bloated dark clouds the sky screamed to let loose looming above the campus were any indication.  The flower beds had turned into muddy Slip N Slides, plants struggled to hold their petaled heads up under the heavy weight of dew, and the stench of rotting mulch filled my nostrils as galloped down a set of stairs and swept past. 

Jeff fell into place beside me as I left Professor Rasmussen’s class, heading toward the music hallway.

“How’s it going?  I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

I didn’t know why he’d expected to hear from me at all.  We weren’t
Friends
, we were
friends?
without much in common except for one art class and a fondness for a certain murderer.

“Sorry, I meant to text back.  I’ve been busy.”

“Oh, really?  With what?” 

I shot him a sideways glance through the wet fog, eyebrows forced up in surprise.

“I’m just interested,” he said in a rush, stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. Dew clung to his pores and collected on the lenses of his glasses.  He needed some windshield wipers.  “That came out wrong.  I’m not saying it as in, you owe me any explanations.  We just haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of research papers and general homework, not to mention this thing with Caroline.  It makes life pretty hectic.”

He bobbed his head, keeping pace with my long strides.  I’d hoped it would tire him out, make him get the hint; I didn’t want to talk or have a long conversation, clearly I had somewhere to go, but he didn’t seem to get the message, or had planned on ignoring it entirely. 

“Are you going home?” He cast a glance at the parking lot I’d buzzed right past. 

“No.  Professor Lawlis’s office.”

“What for?”

“It’s…” I stopped, adjusting the strap of my backpack, trying and failing to smooth the annoyed arch in my eyebrow.  “It’s kind of personal.  Was there something you needed?”

“No.  Not really.  I just wanted to see how you’ve been, say hi.”

“Well.  Hi.”  I gave him my best attempt at a smile.  “But I do have to get going.”

“Sure.  Sure.”  He smiled back, returning my wave as I headed backward for the music breezeway. 

That fake smile fell off my face as I faced front, hoping with a passion Kyle hadn’t been right about Jeff’s hanger-on status.  If he were this clingy towards me, how had he been like with Caroline?  She wouldn’t have stood for such buffoonery, she’d have aimed a few cold, curt words like an icicle to his heart.  I may have taken more pity on him if he wasn’t completely transparent in his intentions.  Caroline was unreachable; I wasn’t.  I was just the next best thing. 
Is Pepsi okay? 

I hadn’t thought it possible I’d grow even more sick of men. 

 

 

***

 

“Two hands, kid, you’re not a Crip.”  Professor Lawlis leaned over on his good leg to clap my left hand into place around the handle of the gun.  “Relax your shoulders some, they don’t need to be way up there by your ears.  You ready?”

No, but I doubted I’d ever be, so I nodded.

“You want to aim for center mass, easiest target, it’s bigger.  Go ahead, now.”

I had to apply more pressure than I thought was possible, and the recoil knocked me back a few steps.  Professor Lawlis studied the ragged hole smoking through the target paper.  “Hmm.  Well, kidney shot will drop someone too, I guess.  Good thing the HSC exam is a written test.”  He nudged my feet back into the appropriate stance.  “Try again.  You know what the kickback feels like now, try to adjust your aim accordingly.”

Though marginally better than my first attempt, the second left a lot to be desired, a shot through the shoulder of the target paper outline. 

“But that’d still hurt someone, right?”

He snorted.  “I’m sure it wouldn’t feel nice, but it wouldn’t stop any determined person for long.”

I slid the earmuffs off, letting them circle my neck.  “Well, I can always say, ‘fuck off, asshole, I’ve got a gun’ right?”  I hadn’t expected that much recoil in such a small gun.  He’d chosen a revolver which held only nine rounds, but he’d said that should suffice. 
If nine rounds don’t do the job, nothing will
, he’d told me, to my mild horror.  Learning came easier on a revolver, he’d stated, especially for women—semiautos had a bigger grip, made it harder for tiny hands to keep firmly in place. 
It’s not sexist
, he’d said to my glare,
just the truth.  I’ve seen your hands up close on a guitar all year, don’t give me that look.

“There’s always that.”

“I don’t know whether this is such a good idea.”  I waved the gun feebly.  “It’s not worth keeping a gun if I can’t even use it properly.  Is California even a stand your ground state?”

“Not in so many words.  There’s something called the Castle Doctrine.  You can use deadly force in your own home if you have reason to fear imminent bodily harm.  Seems like it may come down to it eventually.  He’s gone a step up from stealing cats and creeping around outside your place.  You get that camera yet?”

“Kyle’s getting one later when he’s finished with a deposition, or something.”

“Hmmm,” he said, and within his voice swirled a world of amusement.  “That’s nice of him.”

“Can you stop with the smirking and the hinting?  I’m holding a gun.”

“I could, but where’s the fun in that? Don’t wave the gun around, the DOJ wouldn’t take kindly to seeing that.  I suppose he shot right over in the dead of night to tend to you.”

“It was ten p.m.  That’s only the dead of night for you, old man.”

“Is it just me, or have you gotten a smart mouth recently?  That kind of sass might get you knocked off the free guitar lesson list.”

I laughed, popping open the cylinder the way he’d taught me.  “I should have told you this a while ago, but I kind of got a car.  I don’t have to hang out at school all day for the bus anymore.”

“So you’ve been taking advantage of me all this time?”  But he didn’t seem all that surprised.

“I guess so.”  I dumped the bullets into my palm. 

“I should be flattered some young thing’s taken an interest in me.  Maybe I’ll start billing you.  Not unlike the setup your boyfriend’s got.”

“Do you ever get tired of recycling the same stupid jokes?” 

He was only kidding, we both knew it, but something about hearing another person voice the very thought I kept having made it seem more real, a bigger concern.  Maybe Kyle wasn’t pumping up his billable hours by visiting me, but his ‘visits’ could have had ulterior motives.  If he won this case, the partners of his firm would be beyond pleased, would probably put him on the fast track to becoming partner himself, and he couldn’t win the case without me, his PR face and mouthpiece, the alibi and star witness.  The only thing that stood between him and a better office, really. 

“I might consider it when they stop being funny.”  He paused for a moment, studying my expression.  “Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly gotten sensitive.”

“No.”

“Then tell that to your face.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

I felt his concern rolling off in waves and realized this man, with his cynicism and metal rod leg and strange smiles, acted more like a father to me than my real one had.  Here he was at a shooting range, teaching me how to put holes in target paper.  Showing me how to play guitar, ribbing me about men.  He didn’t even have children of his own, but he somehow knew more than my own father had.

I bit back the blasé comment I would normally answer with.  Why lie?  This wasn’t Caroline who’d laugh, who would try to ‘help’ me stack the deck or come up with strategies to use what happened to my advantage.  “I guess there’s something that’s been making me…uneasy.”

“Yeah?”

“He kissed me a while back.”

“Oh,” he said, and I didn’t misread that highly uncomfortable look he now wore.  “And did you, uh…did you not want him to?”

“I don’t know.  He took me by surprise.  I didn’t even know what hit me until a few seconds after it happened, and then he left.  Why would he do that?”

“Kiss you, or leave?”

“Kiss me.”

“I’m going to assume it’s because he wanted to.”

“But isn’t it wildly inappropriate?”

“Kid.”  He pried the gun from my grip, unzipped his case, and shoved it inside.  “Stuff like that is never entirely appropriate, it never comes at the “right” time or adheres to all the rules.  But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”  He limped toward the exit, gesturing for me to follow.  “When I first met my wi—ex-wife, she told me straight to my face I was ‘disgusting.’  Right in my face, just like that.  ‘You’re disgusting.’ That may have had something to do with the Jim Beam, but still.  I almost impaled her with a dart I was throwing.  You’ve never seen a woman so pissed.  But I took one look at her and just knew.  One of those intangibles.  I didn’t let the fact she thought I was disgusting stop me.”

“I would have been pissed if you’d almost hit me with a dart, too.”

BOOK: Burning September
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ads

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