Adam's Purpose

Marcy isn’t unlike most women Adam found himself drawn to. She’s successful, intelligent, and utterly hard to read. Even now, as the two of them peruse the menu at Marcy’s second favorite French restaurant in town, Adam studies her face to find an inkling of satisfaction. Marcy’s eyes sweep the wine list intensely, glancing up at Adam, seemingly between each selection.

“I’m glad you agreed to-“

“We’ll have the malvoisie, please.” Marcy snaps her menu shut and hands it to the recently appeared waitress. A moment of silence passes over the table as the waitress’s wheels visibly turn.

“I’m sorry, what was-“

“Pinot Grigio, darling.” Marcy bites. The waitress gives Adam a look of defeat as she tucks the menus under her arm and shuffles back to her station. Adam watches her leave, wondering why Marcy felt the need to snap at someone clearly so undeserving. He opens his mouth and flicks his finger up to comment, but Marcy places her hand on his before he can emote.

“You were saying something. What was it?” Marcy purrs. Adam debates bringing up the waitress, but let’s the idea roll away from him.

“Yeah, uh. I was surprised when you agreed to go on this date with me. I thought you would for sure have a boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? Oh please. It’s hard enough to keep myself happy, let alone some other animal.” Marcy puts a cigarette to her lips and stares at Adam. Trying to fully process what Marcy just expressed, Adam doesn’t get the hint. She huffs and pulls a small box of matches out from her purse, looking out over the street as she lights her own cigarette.

“Don’t you know a beautiful woman is never supposed to light her own cigarette?” Marcy jabs. Adam, again shocked at the boldness of such a woman, fumbles to respond.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Of course you don’t.” Marcy puffs on her fresh cigarette and continues to stare off.

“So why did you say yes to going out with me?”

“Oh Adam, you really are so sweet. Stop wondering why, and just experience it. It’s like you’re running an investigation or something.”

“Well, I am a police officer.” Adam retorts, unsure if this was news or not.

“But not a detective.” Marcy responds, using her cigarette to direct this statement.

“You’re right. I’ll stop asking so many questions. It’s not like we’re on a first date and I’m trying to get to know you better or anything like that.” Adam smirks over his own facetiousness. Marcy exhales shortly, one of her strongest forms of laughter.

“I am being pretty uptight right now, I apologize.” Marcy turns her body towards Adam once again, exhaling smoke into Adam’s face. Adam swats his hands around to mitigate the smog.

“Oh come on now, that was uncalled for.”

“A little second hand smoke never hurt anyone.”

“That is wildly untrue.” Adam laughs.

“Are you pregnant? Or an infant?” Marcy puffs.

“No.”

“You’ll be just fine then, dear.” Adam rolls his eyes playfully. Her erratic attitude would normally turn Adam off, but he found himself wound up in her thought process. A swift trip to and from the table from the discouraged waitress brings two glasses of wine into the equation. Adam takes a sip immediately, but Marcy swirls her glass around in her hand, taking whiffs of the wine. Adam pauses himself to watch her.

“What do you think about this one?” Marcy catches Adam off-guard. He’s never been one to think about the complexities of wine.

“I usually like red.”

“As do I. Merlot is my favorite.” Marcy replies. She smiles and takes a sip from her glass.

“Why’d you order a white then?”

“It fits you better.” Marcy sets her glass down delicately.

“So I’m not your favorite.” Adam mirrors her actions and sets his glass down as well.

“I never said that.” She slides her hand across the table to meet Adam’s. “There’s more to it than that.”

“There always is, I suppose.” Adam’s heart starts to pick up pace as Marcy’s fingers intertwine with his. Her eyes have gone cold, but she’s still focused. The pad of her middle finger is placed on the underside of his wrist. She sighs deeply as her finger starts to tap his now-surfaced veins. Adam’s eyes hone in on a small tattoo, just above where his fingers are settled on her arm.

L'amour est la douleur.

Her finger continues to tap, sometimes matching up with Adam’s own heartbeat, and sometimes flowing steadier. Her eyes haven’t strayed from his. Adam’s attention shifts between her arm, her face, and her hand on his. Marcy was infectiously gorgeous, leaving Adam at a loss for words. Marcy’s tapping comes to an end with three short blips. She slides her hand out from under his and readjusts herself into her seat.

“Some cop you are.” The words cut through the silence. Adam is taken aback.

“What do you mean?” Marcy doesn’t respond. She’s staring across the street again. Adam worries that he doesn’t seem to be doing it for her. Marcy plucks her half cigarette from the ashtray and brings it to her lips. It’s become unlit. Adam fumbles through his pockets for something to light it, but he comes up short. Marcy exhales softly and hands her small box of matches to him under the table. Adam slides his chair back to receive the token and stands to get closer to her. He bends one knee, presenting the box like a ring. Marcy gives him a genuine smile as she politely selects a match from the box and hands it to him. He strikes it on the table abruptly and raises it to her mouth.

“What a gentleman.” She mumbles. Adam returns to his chair.

“But not a good cop.”

“No.”

“Why do you say that?” Adam presses.

“You don’t pay enough attention.”

“Have I not been engaged with you all evening?”

“Engaged, or distracted?” Adam is confused by this line of response.

“Maybe it’s hard to pay attention when my date is acting aloof.”

“Wouldn’t that make you want to know more about the situation?” Marcy seems stern in her answers. Adam feels as if he’s in a dream, a dream he won’t truly understand for days. He can’t shake his confusion.

“Should we order our entrees?” He asks, hoping to steer the conversation in a more date-friendly manner.

“No. I think we should settle up here and leave. The wine is usually the best part anyways, don’t you think?” Adam is afraid to answer. He would love to push down his emotions with a hot plate of anything, but he throws his hand up for the server.

The fall evening was perfect for the melancholy state Adam finds himself in. The most beautiful woman Adam has ever had the chance to walk beside is only solidifying his predetermined notions of being alone forever. Marcy keeps her pace just a few steps ahead of his, eager to lead herself home. A swift turn of Marcy’s feet stops Adam in his tracks.

“Here it is.” Marcy motions towards a large gothic home with seemingly no one inside.

“This is your house? It’s huge!” Adam is shocked. He’s seen this house many times before and always thought the owners must be shut-ins by how often the lights were kept off.

“Not big enough.” Marcy adds.

“It must cost a fortune to keep that thing heated, with the high ceilings and all.”

“I suppose.” Marcy’s eyes are swarmed with thoughts, but Adam can’t decipher a single one.

“I would love to see you again, do you have a number I can-“

“I don’t have a phone.” Marcy interrupts. Adam is getting used to being surprised by everything that comes out of this woman’s mouth.

“Of course. So there’s no way I can-“

“I’ll tell you what. You see that perch over there, next to the stairs?” Marcy points lazily at the dark front steps. Adam nods. “If I ever need you, I’ll place something there for you. Let’s say, a glass of Merlot.”

“Your favorite.”

“Yes, exactly. And if you’re ever to see that glass there, I want you to come inside and see me.”

“So you want me to stalk your house, in hopes of finding a secret invitation to see you again?”

“Precisely.”

“I can’t say that doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

“It will be out there soon enough, my dear. You just have to be patient.” Marcy plucks Adam’s hand from its resting place in his pocket and cradles it with both of hers. “I’m counting on you, Adam. If you ever want to see me again, be persistent.” Adam is starting to find this run-around irritating, but Marcy’s face seems to be flushed with good intent.

“Keep an eye out for a glass of Merlot. Got it.” He bends his head down to her hands and gives each of them a soft kiss. Marcy’s mouth curls unexpectedly. The biggest smile Adam has been able to muster out of her, brings one out in him as well.

That moment has been rolling around in Adam’s head for weeks now. At first, he chalked the experience up to be another romantic failure, keeping him from driving by the house at all, but something about today was different. An ache seems to pull Adam into her neighborhood. His drive home is full of invisible pros and cons lists, smacking into each other and eventually fusing together into a flowery image of Marcy.

He can’t contain his curiosity any longer. He decides to walk by, a less threatening approach, he tells himself. The house looks almost as it did the last time he saw it. Dark, empty. But as he gets closer, he notices a single light on in an upstairs room. The shades are drawn, but it illuminates the front yard nonetheless. The muted yellow light also sheds itself onto the front steps, reflecting off of a glass of red wine. Adam’s heart starts to pound as he stops himself at the front gate. She wasn’t lying. She had been thinking about him too. Adam scrapes together any courage he has and let’s himself into the yard. He’s almost giddy as he jogs up to the front porch. A fingers length away from knocking, he notices someone inside. He peers into the dark room and makes out a better silhouette. It’s another man.

Emotions come bubbling to the surface, hissing as they pop in Adam’s ears. Envy. Jealousy. Rage. She has baited her web, and she’s waiting for a stir. A feline with her claws tied to dozens of strings. She can beckon a companion with a single pluck of the yarn. Compartmentalizing his thoughts, Adam wonders who else had fallen for her charms. A glass of Merlot. Adam fidgets. Walking himself back down the steps, his fingers trail along the rim of the glass. This glass had been out here for a while. Adam’s blood boils as he exits the front yard and starts to jog away.

He wanders for what feels like ages before he can hear sirens. He halts, trying to gauge which direction they’re coming from, but his question is quickly answered as a patrol car comes barreling down the street and heads towards the direction he was so desperately trying to get away from. He reluctantly turns on his heel and starts to chase it, arriving shortly after the car does. Whipping out his badge, he approaches the officer leaving his car.

“Officer Watts, what seems to be the problem here?” The other officer closes his car door behind him and puffs his chest up. He seems thrown off by this addition to his night, but he complies.

“We got a code three 10-16. Neighbor called in about the couple living here. Said she hadn’t heard from the female in a few days and had been hearing some distressing noises. Do you know them?”