Disconnection (18 page)

W
ith in an hour after he had left Sela at Frank’s Diner, Lewis had arranged for a search and interrogation at the Black Kitchen bar on Bourbon Street. He also arranged for two uniformed cops to stake out Sela’s apartment. Within that time frame, Lewis personally visited the Warren apartment (a legal venture, since her apartment was, after all, a crime scene) to guarantee that Sela was telling the truth about the phone. Indeed she was, for by the time he had left her home, he had searched every room, quite thoroughly, if he did think so himself, and had found nothing.

Not a trace of Chloe Applegate’s phone anywhere.

Lewis’s fruitless search in the end meant very little, however, for he was convinced that Sela Warren, one way or the other, was involved with the Fishhook murders.

The only question was how.

Sela sat in a rental car, watching Dean’s apartment for any sign of life. She had not been invited, but she felt drawn to Dean’s fresh-faced apartment, to the central gravity of its everyday nature, its perfectly gardened landscape, the clean parking lot full of cars displaying Tulane decals on their rear windows, the sun floating just above the roofs, revealing the fragility of everything underneath with its orange glow.

As the sirens of a fire truck roared in the distance, Sela decided she would go to him, and Dean would comfort her. There would be no talk of cell phones or murders tonight. He would be her escape.

She stepped out of the car and walked to his apartment. She hesitated only a moment before knocking on his door. When he opened the door, Dean was bare-chested and brushing his teeth with a battery-operated toothbrush.

“Hello, there,” she said. “What happened to your glasses?”

His face lit up with happy surprise. “Contacts. I just tried to call you,” he said through toothpaste as he opened his door wide enough for Sela to walk through. He clicked off the toothbrush and closed the door as he held up one finger, willing Sela to wait. When he returned, he was still shirtless, but the toothbrush was gone. “Got to take care of those gums,” he said as his way of an apology.

Sela smiled at him coyly. “Sorry that I showed up unannounced,” she said.

“I’m glad you showed up unannounced.”

“I was just in the area, driving around. Started thinking about Elvis and if he was really dead or if he was in some Waffle House in Tennessee, snacking on a hashbrown. Do you have thoughts on this matter?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I even wrote a research paper on it.”

“And what did you discover?”

“Elvis is alive, and frightened to come out. He went to a KISS concert back in ’79 and he’s been seeking professional help ever since.”

“Gene Simmons’ tongue can do that to you.”

Their silly banter subsided as Sela studied Dean’s home. The apartment was tiny, about the size of Sela’s living room, and consisted of two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a living room/eating area with an open kitchen taking up minimal space in the far corner. Where a kitchen table should have been, were two computer desks adjacent to one another, cluttered with computer software and paper and the caps of pens. A futon and a bean bag sat where the sofa should have been. Naked women ripped from various porno magazines dotted the wall and beneath them sat a TV tray that was currently being used as an entertainment stand.

Sela laughed suddenly. Dean asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Your apartment.”

“It’s so loveable?”

“Typical! It’s like I’ve walked into a sound stage of a TV show about two college guys.”

“Are you serious?” Dean pointed above the refrigerator to a poster depicting Einstein with his tongue sticking out. “Come on, how many guys you know have Einstein over their refrigerator?”

“Any guy who wants to impress a girl by having an Einstein poster over his refrigerator.”

“Okay,” Dean said, shrugging. “You got me on that one.”

Sela placed her arm around his back. “How about a drink?” she asked, batting her eyes flirtatiously.

“Okay. Would you like a wine cooler?”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Ha. I have Coors.”

“Coors is fine.”

He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two Coors. He popped one open and handed the bottle to her. They sat on the futon and Sela listened while Dean described his hellacious week. When their drinks were finished, he reached over and crushed her in a warm embrace. “I’m glad you came over. I was seriously thinking of inviting you tonight.”

“Yeah, I can see why you’d want to.” She nodded to his train wreck of an apartment.

“Now
you’re
being the smart ass.” He nibbled on her ear.

They made it to his bed, but only just so. Being intimate with Dean, Sela decided, was as thrilling as any experience she had ever had before. He seemed to know so many things to do with his hands and tongue, so many ways of touching her. Her body responded to the fevered way with which he plundered every inch of her skin. She moved against his rhythm and held him tightly inside almost instinctively. The contractions that Sela gave back to his every push sent his climax to an abrupt and satisfying conclusion right as Sela reached her own pinnacle.

Afterwards, Sela rolled away and sighed happily, feeling more relaxed than she had in days. She began studying the posters on his wall. “What do you suppose was the photographer’s statement when he shot this picture?” she asked, pointing to one where a blonde wore a thong, a skimpy bra, and snow skis on a snowy mountain top. Sela added, “Do you think it’s possible to wear just a bra and panties when skiing?”

“She’s wearing skis, too,” Dean pointed out.

“Yes, she definitely has the footwear going for her. But what about, you know, a mask, and ski suit, and a cap to cover her head and ears? She must be cold.”

“I think she’s happy.”

“No. You’re the happy one, jerking off to her every night.”

“Never her!” Dean exclaimed, appearing insulted. He pointed to a poster of a naked redhead sitting behind a teacher’s desk. “This one,” he said, “is my girl.”

“I bet you don’t even know her name,” Sela said, pouting her lips mockingly.

“Sure I do. Miss January.”

Sela laughed. She looked away to another picture where a brunette sat naked on a motorcycle with a melting ice cream cone in her hands. She reminded Sela of herself—not that she really looked like her. Sela’s boobs were one-tenth the size of the cover girl’s. It was the eyes. They were the same color as Sela’s, which meant, of course, that they were close to the same color of Chloe’s.

Sela’s heart tightened. She rested her head into Dean’s chest. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. Everything. My life was normal up until last week.”

“Because you met me?”

“Believe it or not, you are the most normal experience I’ve had lately.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It was meant to be, yeah.”

He kissed her forehead. “I love having sex with you. I don’t know why. Do you know what
yetzer ra
is?”

“No. What is it?”

“An evil impulse. They say that sexual desire comes from
yetzer ra
. But so does hunger or thirst. What it means is, sex is fine in Judaism as long as it is taken care of in a proper manner, place, and time.”

“Is this the proper manner, place, and time?”

“I don’t know. But it feels that way, doesn’t it? In the Torah, the word used for sex comes from the root
Yod-Dalet-Ayin
, meaning ‘to know,’ meaning that proper Jewish sexuality involves both the heart and mind, not merely the body.” He paused. “And, it just feels like you and me … we’re in synch. I don’t mean
love
, because we’ve hardly gotten that far into things, right?” He blushed, asking, “I just mean, you know throughout your life how disconnected you feel with so many people? Well, it’s not the case between you and me. We have a connection.”

Sela reached her hand up to his face and curved her fingers along his jaw. “You talk so much. It’s a good thing you’re interesting, because you talk more than any other person I know.”

Dean pulled away. “Oh, here I am pouring my heart out, and all you can think is how much I talk? Aren’t I supposed to be the insensitive Yankee here?”

“I never called you an insensitive Yankee.”

He pushed back the hair from her forehead and face and kissed her cheek. “Will you stay here tonight?”

“Is your roommate going to be here?”

“No. He’s at his parents’ house in Little Rock. Say, we could take his uncle’s boat out tomorrow.” Dean’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Yeah, we should do just that! I mean, how many chances do we have just to spend the day together? You don’t have to work, do you?” Sela shook her head. “Well, why not then?” Dean asked.

Sela yawned. “Let me think about it,” she replied, and then fell asleep.

In her dream she stood in her parents’ living room. It was nighttime and she was a child, though her mind was twenty-four and well aware that she was dreaming. From the fireplace she watched as harlequin clowns entered through the swinging kitchen doors, their arms lifted in the air, twirling to music that only they could hear.

The clowns were not here to hurt her, this Sela understood. It was almost as if they were sent for entertainment.

Two of the clowns dressed in silver and black threads took her by the arm and led her to the center of the room.

Dance with us
, they said through lips that did not move.

Sela danced. She was struck by the elegance of her own movements, of her hands floating in circular waves before her eyes, her legs moving back and forth along her parents’ green shag carpet. She had always been the standard White Girl when it came to dancing, but in her dream she felt agile, like Tina Turner in her “Private Dancer” video. Sublime. A feeling of peace moved through her, and her heart felt like a dove fluttering among the trees.

Remember this feeling
, the clowns said.
Remember this feeling because tomorrow he will kill you
.

Sela sat upright in bed. She turned and saw that Dean was sleeping next to her, his arms forming a halo above his head. His serene expression reminded Sela of her dream, and of its warning.

Remember this feeling
.

Chloe’s cell phone rang.

I know that tune I know that tune
.

Sela crawled out of the security of Dean’s bed and reached for her purse on the floor, carrying it with her to the bathroom. She flicked on the light switch as she entered, and by doing so, discovered the bacteria colony that Dean called his bathroom. Halfway hidden by a yellowing shower curtain depicting Princess Leah in her gold bikini prisoner garb, the tiles above the tub were green with mold. The same grime was also building camps along the surface of the sink and toilet bowl. On the floor must have been a month’s worth of dirty laundry. And if the scenery was not bad enough, the air also added its own funky flavor, smelling of sweat and Old Spice.

After taking a moment to wonder how Dean could live like this, how even Mandy would have to admit that it was fucking gross, Sela returned her attention to Chloe’s latest phone call.

Sela reached into her purse and pulled out the phone. After pressing the “on” button, she lifted it to her ear.

“Chloe?”

Chloe’s voice answered, “Are you awake?”

Sela shifted her feet on Dean’s Chewbacca-themed bathroom mat. “I am now,” she replied.

“Sorry. I have no perception of time.”

“I’ve sort of figured that out.”

“I learned a trick today. Would you like to see?”

“To see? What kind of trick is this?”

“Are you near a mirror?”

“I’m in the bathroom, yes.”

“Look at your reflection.”

Sela did as she was told, turning her face toward the streaked, Windex-free glass. Her reflection stared back at her, the same image she had seen all her life. But within a matter of seconds, the bathroom became cloudy, as Sela’s living room had been the first time she had ever talked to Chloe.

A world from beyond entered through the walls, and Sela became aware that there were no angles left in the room, no corners. Where there was once a roof was now a sea of stars, a galaxy of suns. The bathroom had shifted into eternal space, and a series of lightened smoke began to appear in the mirror itself, warping Sela’s reflection. Her image began to fade, gradually changing into another girl’s face—a face with eyes of slightly paler blue, and a fuller upper lip, and thicker eyebrows, and a nose that was shorter and flatter between the eyes.

Chloe Applegate’s face.

Sela inhaled sharply as she witnessed the transformation. “What are you doing to me?” Sela asked.

“I wanted you to see me,” Chloe explained. Her pale blue eyes brightened in the mirror. With each second that passed, her reflection was becoming more stabilized, more real.

Sela shook her head, unable to accept the enormity of what was before her eyes. “Fine,” she said, “I see you. Now stop it.”

Chloe’s skin took on a glistening hue as her voice on the phone laughed. “Come on, Sela, amuse me,” she said. “I never get to have any fun here.”

“You’re dead, I don’t think it’s supposed to be a day at Disneyland. How did you learn that trick anyway?”

“I don’t know. It just came to me, I think. New stuff comes every day to me. I can see colors now. Before I couldn’t. But now I can see your eyes and they’re blue like mine. Your body is soft like sphagnum moss on the moorland.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You feel good to be in. That sounded nasty, didn’t it?” Chloe’s reflection held a hand up to her lips, squelching a giggle.

Sela could not stop staring at Chloe’s face in the mirror. She wondered if it was just a trick of the eye, or if her face had really dissolved into Chloe’s. She reached out and touched the reflection. “This is freaky,” she said, though she was more amazed than afraid.

It was then that the image in the mirror changed, and Sela was no longer staring at Chloe, but at a long rural road surrounded by trees. In the distance, a man was walking toward her. A bag was slung over his shoulder.