I stand beside it. Claire was right, she lives right in front of it, in a rowhouse. There are only the two sidewalks and the road separating her doorstep from the pit.
The government never bothered making fences or signs, the deadly consequence of falling is pretty obvious. Not even guardrails for cars.
I lean against a lamppost, my cigarette burnings as my lungs get filled with nicotine. The air here is colder since the geothermal system’s core is at the main center.
I wonder what kind of pay Claire gets from her boutique to afford a rowhouse property and the pricey heating bills you get for staying at the border.
I go over a lonely payphone and call Claire, it’s time to get to work. It’s 6:23 PM right now, I wonder if the Other One will show up.
“It’s me,” I mutter, “I’m in front of your house. Do you perhaps have a backyard? I didn’t check.”
“Has the girl ever appeared in front of your house, then? I’m far enough so that she doesn’t notice someone in front of it, I don’t see anyone so far.”
I sigh, “then I need you to do that.”
“I’m not a bodyguard, Claire. I’m an investigator. I’m not here to protect you indefinitely, I’m here to catch the girl and find out about her.”
“I have a gun, Claire. You’re completely safe. Dress up and go for an evening stroll before dinner. Don’t look behind or act like I’m there with you, just go somewhere crowded. We’ll wait there for her to appear.”
After a while, she comes out of her house, locking the door behind her.
She’s skinny and she has deep eye bags. She’s exhausted.
She begins walking forward, I start following her. I narrow my eyes and observe her more...her red hair is also an unhealthy color. I wonder if she’s okay.
We walk for a while and I don’t notice anything noteworthy.
Then, we reach a car-free square. It’s quite lively, shops are still open and people walk around passing through.
She sits at the table of a bar and orders something. I stay away, leaning against a building across the place with my eyes constantly checking for Other Ones.
Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then thirty...nothing.
I sigh and look down to grab a cigarette from my pocket, and right at that moment, when I look back up, I see Claire looking intensely towards an empty spot in the square. She’s terrified.
There’s nothing. No one. I look at the spot and at her, back and forth. I’m trying to understand what she’s looking at.
Then, she looks at me, nodding.
I’m confused. No one was there. Is this girl hallucinating?
I push myself off the wall, putting back my cigarette as I cross the whole square...taking a good look around for the last time. No Other Ones, nothing out of place...just people minding their own business.
I sit at the table where Claire is, trying to figure out what to tell her. She looks at me puzzled, pointing at the spot again.
“S-She...she ran away! Aren’t you supposed to follow her now?!”
I saw no one, she’s pointing at no one...yet she’s terrified.
“I know what I’m doing,” I mutter, “let’s have a drink now.”
She looks at me, puzzled, but then she nods, “okay...I guess. Let me go to the bathroom first.”
She stands up and leaves her purse behind. I open it casually, checking its contents.
I find a plastic container...it’s drugs. I roll it around my fingers, finding a label.
“Haloperidol,” I mutter.
Antipsychotic.
My stomach turns, I swallow the truth behind the case hard as I sit back down, setting her purse back to how it was.
She comes back, she looks more relaxed now that she sees my friendly face at the table. She sits comfortably and forces up a smile, “are you sure you shouldn’t go after her, detective?”
“I have a few questions for you.”
She nods and sips on her cup of chocolate, “I can answer them, detective. Ask.”
If she’s been prescribed something so strong, it means this isn’t new.
“How long have you been followed by this girl?”
“She’s been haunting me for a month now,” she shudders as she replies.
“Hm, and...have you told anyone about this outside of me?”
She hesitates. Her eyes widen, her hands twitch.
Yes, she has...and the reactions weren’t of her liking.
“Did you ever...tell your doctor about this?"
Her head snaps up, “what? Doctor? Why?”
“Well, this must be stressfull for you, maybe-”
“I knew it...you don’t believe me either!!!” She suddenly hisses angrily, standing up and grabbing the edges of the metallic table, her knuckles turning white, “the police too...they all think I’m joking! If I told my doctor about this, he would...agh...god…”
She breaks down crying in front of me, slumping over her chair.
“He would give you more dosage?”
“Yes…” she mewls, everyone is watching her now, “but those things make my head...foggy...empty…”
I let her cry, moving my chair closer to hers. People are whispering, judging...but I don’t care.
“I understand Claire. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel crazy or stupid. Let’s go back to your house, we can talk there, okay? People here can’t mind their own business,” I say the last part out loud, glaring at all those who are making fun of her.
I need to tackle the situation, make her understand what she’s going through.
Her house is surprisingly warm and tidy. Nothing you would expect from a mentally ill woman. She has a male cat, his name is Pyry. It’s 7:00 PM now, almost time for dinner.
“I’m sorry for making a scene earlier, Mr. D’arbie...” she sniffles, setting down two cups of black tea on her tea table.
I grab mine and sip on it, “it’s okay Claire. You can call me Edward,” I mutter.
“Thanks…” she whispers, sitting on the opposite couch. The fireplace warms us...I hope it’ll warm the conversation too, “so uh…” she shrugs, unsure of what to say.
“Let me know more about you, okay? Have you been taking meds for a long time?”
“No...last year,” she replies briefly.
“Okay,” I nod gently, “did something happen before you started taking them? Maybe you lost someone or...an accident happened?"
“No...detective. And don’t think I just don’t remember it...check my family records, if you want. I lost both my parents when I was twelve and lived with my grandparents…it’s been seven years, I’m way past that.”
“And your grandparents?”
“They live in a house not far from here, they check on me from time to time.”
“Do they know about your medications?”
“No. But, the point is, I don’t know why I have to take them. It all started last year, randomly. One day I woke up and I was...well…” she bites her lips, a silence lingering...delaying reality, “not myself anymore.”
I nod slowly, accepting her words.
“I started feeling horrible and my mind was chaotic, I heard voices and saw absurd things...and then I started taking medicines. The doctor said it was an unlucky awakening of something I’ve always had in my head, dormant.”
“You said those meds make you foggy. So you don’t like them? Are you taking them?”
“I-I do...I am, luckily the cathatonic state they put me in lasts only a few hours...with this dosage, at least.”
“So, right now, at this moment...you’re not under the influence of your condition?”
She shakes her head, “no, I swear...I am okay...I wouldn’t be so calm and rational. You’d see me talking about random things and I wouldn’t be able to even understand what you’re saying.”
“So why did you see that girl?”
“Because she’s real!!” She shouts, slamming her cup on the table, “just because I am schizophrenic...it doesn’t mean that the real dangers around me should be neglected. Also...why are we talking about this? Didn’t you see her too, now that I think about it? You-”
“No. I didn’t see anything...where you were looking and pointing at.”
She freezes, sinking deep into the couch with a lost gaze.
“She wasn’t there, Claire.”
She shakes her head again, frantically, “you must have missed her Edward, please believe me...please…”
She breaks into tears again.
I sit back, the weight of her sorrow is pressing my heart, hard.
This case is a dead end, I need to step away...there’s no way I will be able to help this girl out...I’m not a shrink.
I clear my throat and stand up, “I’m sorry, Claire. I don’t know how to help you. I’m not going to charge you anything. I wish you good luck.”
She looks up, looking terrified, “n-no! Please don’t leave me, detective! You’re my only hope! You’re the only one who listened to me so much!”
And I listened enough.
I’m not a hero. I don’t cure broken people...I help them find closure, maybe, but that’s it.
I can only wish her the best.
I leave her house before she can run after me, clenching my teeth and looking forward.
“I’m sorry.”
Back to the office. 7:40 PM.
“Poor girl…” Elima says, tapping her fingers on her desk.
"Cross her off, I’m not going to charge her.”
“Understandable," after that, she gets up, “so...do you wanna work late or…?”
“I’ve had enough for today.”
Elima chuckles, “long day, huh?”
“Long day.”
We tidy up the place before leaving. I lock my office and look at Elima grabbing her purse.
“Uh, Elima.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you...wanna come over?”
“Uh…” she looks down and bites her lips, “sure!” she raises her head and smiles.
“Good.”
We hit the streets and go over her car, green and new...she was able to afford it thanks to her hard work for me.
“You didn’t ask because you don’t want to go home on foot, right?”
“Of course not,” I chuckle, sitting in the passenger seat.
“You should really get around buying a car...Edward. Stop being so stubborn about it…” she says, turning the ignition key.
“It’s just...they’re made by those greedy companies, filled with Other Ones,” I shrug.
“And? The coat you're wearing is probably made by Other Ones too…” she chuckles, her slender hand moving over the gear stick.
She drives off, taking the road to my apartment.
“No. Didn’t I tell you already?” I furrow my brows.
“Oh right...it was your father’s. Sewn by your mother, right?” She gasps softly.
“Mhm.”
“Sorry, I forgot,” she chuckles again, “well...your underwear?” She adds, bursting into laughter immediately afterwards.
I sigh and chuckle audibly, “alright...yeah, I’ll buy a car. I was thinking about it anyways.”
“Good!” She smiles at me even more.
I’m still troubled by today...but her presence already makes things better.
After we park, I walk up to my apartment with her and unlock the door. She takes off her coat and removes her shoes...a white sweater with jeans.
I take off my coat too, hanging it beside hers. The difference is that her coat smells like vanilla, while mine smells like cigarettes. After that thought, I shift my coat at least two places away from hers.
I walk to the living room couch and look at her, already comfortable on it like she’s at home.
“So...what’s for dinner? Should I cook?”
“If you want...yeah. I bought some ingredients for that, you’re the only one who can use them.”
“Hahah! You were definitely counting on me coming over hm?” She rises from the couch and walks over to the kitchen.
“When did you ever refuse?” I retort, following her.
I look at her cook. I’m hungry, I haven’t eaten anything since the sandwich of this morning.
After a while, we both have our rich plates. She always cooks stuff I like, even if I don’t even know what I like myself.
We dig in. We don’t chat, we just keep each other company as we eat. She knows I like her food, so there’s no need for compliments anymore.
We finish, I throw the dishes into the sink, they can wait. For now, I just want to relax.
In the living room, I sip on a beer can while she sits beside me, her hands on her legs, her body shifted towards me comfortably.
I’m lonely. She isn’t.
She still lives with her parents because she’s saving for university. She wants to have a good paying job...she wants to be a therapist to help people like Claire.
She’s a smart girl, she has a future...unlike me.
So why does she stay with me so often? She never told me...she never told me why she works for me either.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“For what?”
“You know what,” I sigh, “you could be out right now, having fun with some friends.”
“Don’t be silly,” she chuckles, “I enjoy being with you, you know that. We talked about this a million times.
“Hm…”
She puts her hand on my leg, shifting her body closer to mine.
A reason she stays is probably the sex.
It happened once, a couple of months ago. I was drunk because of a stupid client that made me angry...and she was at my place because she knew I wasn’t doing okay. Next thing I saw was the both of us naked on the couch.
We talked normally, she was okay with it. She didn’t mind. We started doing it occasionally.
I never asked her if she didn’t mind giving up on a boyfriend...or if she had past, healthier experiences. It’s none of my business and it’s her choice.
I know. I’m 43 and she’s 24. I should know better.
But her touch is the only thing that keeps me away from what goes on into my head.
And so, I set the beer down and put my hand on hers, nodding. She understands and smiles, bringing the both of us into the bedroom.
The bed creaks, it has seen a lot.
Our skins brush, they have felt a lot.
My hands hold her hips, hers grab the sheets.
It feels right, I’m in a single moment of my life where everything makes sense again.
If only I could wash away who I was with my climax...I would start anew and become a different person.
I stare at the phone in my office. The early morning’s drowsiness still hasn’t gone away.
“Hey,” Elima walks in, her hands behind her back, “you okay?”
I raise my eyes and sigh, “yeah...it’s just that girl, Claire. I left her in a bad way. I think I should call her.”
“What do you plan to tell her?”
“Well, that...I don’t know…” I shake my head and sigh, “I just need to make sure she’s going to be okay.”
“And then?” She gets angry, “you said it yesterday, you don’t fix people.”
I groan, “I know. But I also know what it feels like waking up knowing no one gives a damn. I’m going to check on her, that’s it.”
She sighs, her expression softens, “fine. Call her. I’ll be at my desk…”
She leaves, shutting the door. I dial her number, the phone’s ringing. It rings for a while and then nothing.
Maybe she’s at work?
I try to call her again. It rings once more...this time, for not as long. Someone answers.
My blood runs cold.
Lowe. Her voice penetrates my cranium and shoots right into my heart.
“Lowe? What the fuck are you doing there?”
The word is another shot, in the guts. Victim.
I sit there, at my desk, my eyes unfocused.
“Victim? Claire’s dead?” I mutter shakily.
I drop the receiver and bolt out of my office.
“Elima, your car, now.”
“What’s going on?”
“Let’s just go! Please!”
We reach the house. Patrol cars blocking the entrance, curious neighbors barely respected the yellow lines.
“Woah! Woah! Stop right there, D’arbie! This isn’t your crime scene!”
A police officer blocks my path, I see Lowe standing inside, near the door, talking to a forensic expert.
“LOWE! LET ME IN!” I scream, my whole body shaking. Elima grabs my shoulders from behind, pulling me towards sanity.
She looks at me. She nods imperceptively.
“Wait, stop!”
“She said I can get in you motherfucker!” I scream at the officer, who immediately jerks away and lets me through.
My next steps are heavy, I make my way into the living room in an instant, following the scent of blood.
“That’s enough! Don’t go any closer!” Lowe shouts, walking to my side with her arms crossed.
A bloodbath. Claire’s entrails are spread out all over the carpet. Her eyes are terrified. Her cat Pyry is sitting beside her, meowing loudly in pure sadness.
I clench my fists, my throat goes dry.
I look at Lowe, her gaze is cold, completely apathetic. She looks at me, her sharp eyes narrow.
“Claire Eisern was killed last night,” she says.
“I think we should take a little trip back at the station, Edward. I have a few questions for you.”
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