Crooked

On Saturday morning, I enjoyed the silence. I sipped hot coffee and thumbed through the pages of a book that I had intended to read some time ago, yet had never gotten past the prologue. I let the sliding door out to the balcony remain open, the breeze rustling the leaves of various potted plants around the space. I listened to the birds and the city sounds of hustle and bustle and enjoyed the steady quiet inside my head. Unfortunately, my blissful morning was interrupted by a knocking on the door that sent my stomach up into my throat.

“It’s me,” he said from the hallway. Briefly, I thought of saying nothing, pretending I wasn’t home. I checked and double-checked that I had properly cleaned up any evidence of the previous night’s occurrences, knowing that Adam would not be pleased to find stolen evidence in the form of controlled substances strewn across his partner's living room. He knocked again.

“One moment,” I said, unlocking the three locks on my door. I opened it to see him standing there with messy hair, a five o’clock shadow, and two to-go coffees that smelled bitter and burnt. The bags beneath his eyes seemed darker and heavier than ever. I suddenly felt a strange urge to hug him, but swatted it aside.

“Mornin’, partner,” he grinned.

“Deputy Bliss,” I nodded. “What is the purpose for your visit? It’s Saturday.”

“Is it?” He chuckled. “Can I come in?” After a second of perturbed silence, I stepped aside and gestured him through the door, where he glanced curiously around my apartment. “Nice place, Watkins. Part of me thought you were living in some sort of medieval castle on a cloudy hill or, I don’t know, a concrete house in the suburbs with surveillance cameras and a guarded entry gate.”

“You’ve painted two very different pictures, Deputy, and I’m not sure if I should take your statement as a compliment or a criticism, so I choose compliment. Thank you.” I pointed at the Styrofoam cups in his hands. “What is that?”

“Here,” he said, handing one of them to me. I took both coffees from him and headed into the kitchen.

“Please,” I said, “let me make you some coffee that doesn’t taste like the underside of a semi-truck.”

“I’m going to try not to be offended by that,” he frowned. I filled a teapot with some tap water and put it over a flame on the stove, poured some fragrant beans into the coffee grinder, and ground them into coarse grains before adding them to my antique French press.

“I’ll ask again, Bliss, what business have you here on a Saturday morning?”

“I’ll tell you, Watkins,” he said, leaning against the countertop with his arms and ankles crossed, “I don’t know. But I woke up today and I had two thoughts. The first one was, ‘I need a drink.’ Then I looked at the clock and saw that it was seven in the morning, and it felt pretty pathetic.”

“You are a sharer, aren’t you?” I asked. Adam’s honesty regarding his inner demons always made me feel a little bit uncomfortable.

“Then I wondered,” he smirked, “what you were doing. See, I don’t know much about you, and I was really curious about what a person like you would be doing on a Saturday morning. So I grabbed some apparently terrible coffees and came to find out.”

“Hm.” The teapot began to whistle. I turned the heat off and let the water sit.

“So,” Adam continued, “what do you usually do with your weekends?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m just curious, Watkins. I think we should spend more time together, get to know each other a little better.”

“I suppose we should,” I said, pouring the hot water over the ground coffee inside the deep carafe of the French press. I cleared my throat and said, “This morning, I woke up, took a shower and got dressed. I had breakfast, coffee, read a book, cleaned my apartment, and now here I am talking to you.”

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” He asked, nodding.

“Not necessarily.” I used a long wooden spoon to stir the coffee and water together, staring into the dark, gritty whirlpool. “I usually spend my Saturdays alone; enjoying the quiet, tidying up around here, getting caught up on news and paperwork.”

“Oh.” Adam said. I could tell that he felt as though he were invading my privacy or ruining some sacred ritual of mine. “Sorry for intruding.”

“Don’t be.” I grinned up at him. Smiling felt strange, but it seemed to put him at ease. “I’m glad you came by.” I finished the coffee, plunging the filter in and slowly pressing down as Adam watched.

“I’ve actually never seen one of those used before,” he mused. “It’s pretty cool.”

“Just wait,” I replied. I poured the steaming black liquid into two ceramic mugs and passed one to him, observing as he sniffed at it and took a sip. He nodded slowly, screwing his face up into a comical, satisfied expression. I think the sound that escaped my throat can only be described as a giggle.

“Wow,” he said, “that’s good coffee.”

“I know.” I watched Adam’s gaze drift across my face, from my awkward smirk to my eyes, and saw the corner of his mouth climb into a half-smile. “Blue eyes,” he inquired, “I thought they were green.” I’d completely forgotten to put my contacts in that morning, not used to having company on weekends.

“Yes,” I said. “I typically wear contacts.” I tried to remain aloof as he continued to stare. Our unusually intense eye contact was interrupted by yet another knock on the door, and I felt the terror invade my face. Adam noticed my fear as well, his eyebrows pulling together in a concerned frown. In an instant, multiple scenarios ran through my head, all involving Wesley bursting through my door and slaughtering my partner and I in a flash.

“You want me to get that?” Adam asked.

“No,” I practically shouted.

“It’s just, you look pale all of the sudden. Are you okay?

“It’s fine.” Another knock. “I’m just not accustomed to so many visitors, especially in one day. Excuse me for a moment.” I set my mug onto the counter and tried to control my trembling as I approached the door and peered through the tiny glass eyehole to see who was there. I was relieved, though mildly irritated, as I pulled the door open swiftly.

“Randy,” I greeted him. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I know you hate people or whatever but I’m desperate.” He pushed past me without invitation, dropping his bag onto the middle of the floor. “You see, my mom never came home last night and she was supposed to take me on this mandatory field trip to the museum today. If I don’t go, I lose credit, and I’m really struggling in history class, so I totally can’t afford to miss it.”

I took several deep breaths as I closed the door and listened to him ramble. I hoped that he wasn’t about to ask me to escort him to a museum.

“And I can’t go without a chaperone.” Randy flopped onto my couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.

“Hello,” Adam said, appearing in the archway to the kitchen. “Who’s this?” He smiled at me.

“No one,” I said.

“I live next door,” Randy said. He looked to me, raising his eyebrows, and said, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” I said, maybe a little too aggressively. “He is my partner, a fellow officer of the law. Get your shoes off of my coffee table.”

“Sorry,” Randy said, removing his shoes and tossing them haphazardly across the living room. My heart pounded, and I tried my best to keep from exploding while Adam stood tight lipped in the archway, looking amused.

“What is it that you need from me, Randy?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he said. “I need you to take me to the museum.”

“No,” I shook my head, “absolutely not. I’m your neighbor, not your guardian. It would be completely inappropriate–”

“Aw, come on,” he interrupted me. “You’re a cop, aren’t you supposed to ‘protect and serve’ and shit like that?”

“Watch your language,” I blurted.

Adam snickered from his place against the wall and I tossed him an irritated glance.

“Please, Miss Watkins?” Randy begged. “I swear I’ll never ask you for another favor as long as I live. And I’ll owe you one.”

“The answer is no,” I insisted.

Adam stepped forward, chuckling, and said, “Why don’t we help the kid out, Watkins? I’ll come with you, it’ll be fun.”

“What?” I glared at him.

“Yes!” Randy jumped up from the couch and stepped back into his shoes.

“Hold on–” I tried to protest, but Randy was already heading out the door. “Why did you do that?” I asked Adam.

“Because,” he shrugged. “What else do you have going on today? Nothing? Why not take the kid to the museum?”

I shook my head, but had nothing to say. He was right, I had nothing planned for the afternoon, and there was really no reason for me not to help Randy out other than I hated the idea of being responsible for him in a public place full of strangers.

#

As we wandered through the museum in a herd of teenagers, I tried my best to mask how uncomfortable I was. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about accidentally hearing someone’s thoughts or seeing images from teenage minds that I definitely did not want to see. The drugs I’d taken part in the night before would dull my mental abilities for a while, at least for the rest of the day. But I couldn’t escape the feeling of being under a microscope as Adam eyed me curiously throughout the entire museum.

“You’re not into this, are you?” Adam asked.

“The art, yes,” I replied. “The slew of germ-ridden teenagers, not so much. I know it’s silly, I just don’t do well in crowds.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassured me. “Not everyone can be as outgoing and personable as me, I get it.” I glanced sideways at him, but before I could say anything to insult his confidence, which he was clearly faking, I saw a familiar face behind him.

Standing near Randy, observing a painting that was likely a copy and not the real thing, was Carly. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt with the hood up.

“Look,” I said quietly to my partner. “Carly Shaw. She’s here.”

“Hm,” he said, noticing her. “She must go to school with your neighbor.” Adam continued to peruse the artwork, but I was stuck. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? The same girl that had been used to get my attention, to show me that Wesley was here and he was looking for blood, was friends with the boy who lived next door to me. Had Wesley expected me to make this connection? Was he here now, too, at the museum, watching me? I began to glance around nervously, wringing my hands as I searched every face I could see. They all looked like Wesley to begin with, before they melted into the individual faces of strangers.

“You okay?” I heard Adam’s voice next to me.

“I need some air,” I said. As I headed toward the exit, it took me a moment to realize that Adam had placed a supportive hand on the small of my back, leading me out into the sunshine and fresh oxygen. Once the light breeze hit my face, I began to feel a bit better, my breathing steady, my heart rate slowly returning to normal.

“What happened in there?” Adam asked me. I could see true worry on his face and I thought that I must have looked worse than I felt.

“Nothing,” I lied, “I’m fine. I told you, I don't do well in large crowds.”

“You’re pale, and your eyes are all shifty,” he replied. “I’m going to guess that you’re having some sort of anxiety attack.”

I shook my head, breathing deeply to steady my nerves. “No, no, I’m okay.”

Adam grabbed my hands, forcing me to make eye contact with him. I realized then that I was trembling, my heart was still beating rather quickly, and I couldn’t erase the look of doom that was surely written across my face. I could almost feel the blood as it surged through my veins.

“Take a deep breath.” Adam’s voice floated through my ears, and I tried to focus on him as I gasped for air, the world around me blurring into rapidly closing walls. I felt the ground beneath me and suddenly became aware that I was seated there, with Adam kneeling before me. He continued to speak in short, soft sentences, still holding onto my hands tightly, his wide eyes glistening down at me.

“I’m fine,” I stuttered, though I knew that I wasn’t. I thought that if I weren’t in the middle of having a panic attack, I would probably be humiliated. "I'm absolutely fine."

Adam stifled a laugh, “I’m sure you are. Keep taking deep breaths through your nose. Look at me, focus on my face.” I closed my eyes. “Hey,” Adam said, “don’t close your eyes, you’ll get dizzy. Look at my ugly mug instead.”

He grinned at me as I looked into his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to steady my nerves. Adam wasn’t ugly by any means, but he was tired. His whole face reflected his absolute exhaustion, as if no amount of rest could possibly help him. His chin and jaw line were covered in dark stubble. Deep within the dark, chocolatey swirls of his eyes, I could see a deep reddish light, haloed in a golden haze. They were not quite brown, but auburn and amber; warm, rich colors that swam together seamlessly beneath glossy lashes. Without noticing, my breathing slowed and my heartbeat steadied as I looked into them.

“Feel better?” he asked, grinning.

I blinked a few times, nodding as I looked around me. The world had finally returned to normal and the spinning feeling had gone from my head, my skin was no longer burning hot, and I was fairly certain that I had made it out alive. I glanced toward the ground, at my knees, toward the sky; anywhere but Adam’s face.

“Yeah,” I breathed, “I think so. I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Adam laughed. “Do not apologize. I’m glad I was here to help.”

“Thank you.” I tried to avoid eye contact with him, looking down to see that my hands were still wrapped in his. He brushed a thumb across my knuckles, sending a shiver up my arm. He was looking at me, but I refused to look up, my eyes locked on our hands. His gaze followed mine, and landed on the exposed skin of my wrist, and the tiny black mark there.

“Is that a tattoo?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” I replied. I stood up, sliding my hands out of Adam’s grip, and brushed myself off. No one was gawking at me or laughing, so I felt less embarrassed about my anxiety episode, at least for the moment.

“What does it mean?” he asked. “Do you have any more?”

“No, I don’t. And I’m not sure what it means.” He eyed me suspiciously, not believing it for a second. “I got it in college,” I lied, “when I was drunk. I think it means ‘knowledge’ or something like that.”

He laughed. “Cute.”

We returned inside for another hour before Randy was finally excused by his short, bald history teacher whose name I never asked. Adam drove us back to the apartment complex, but didn’t come inside, thankfully. I needed time alone to unwind and collect myself. I made sure Randy got into his apartment before escaping into my own.

“Thanks,” Randy said. “I really appreciate you coming with me.”

“I can’t say that I was happy to do it,” I replied with a forced grin.

“I know you didn’t want to, but you came anyway. You’re a good person, Miss Watkins.” Randy closed the door and I heard him slide the deadbolt into place. A faint smile accompanied me as I entered my apartment, locking just one of the three locks behind me.

Before I had the chance to slip into a fit of paranoia, I sat down on the couch and filled my pipe with opium. The taste of it was not anything to be desired, but the sensation in my brain, in my body, in the depths of my over-busy mind… was heavenly.

As I sparked the lighter for a third hit, I heard a sound coming from my bedroom. In my current state, all smoke and haze, it took me a moment to realize that it was my window sliding open. Next, I heard footsteps, and I knew it was him before I even turned to see his face.

“Well, now,” he smirked. “What on God’s great green do we have here? Is that my elusive little kitten, poisoning her body and soul to numb the pain of loss and regret?” I said nothing, and he continued his jeering. “Must you go to such lengths to forget me and my beautiful face? My immensely attractive charm and wit? Well here I am, love, just as you left me, come to reclaim what is mine.”

I stared up at him, with every emotion I’d ever felt swirling through me at once. I felt everything and nothing at the same time, the drugs blocking all stimulating emotions from coming to the surface. I looked at him as I would look at any other man who’d simply appeared before me, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of making me gasp or jump in surprise.

“Hello, Wesley,” I said. “It’s about time you showed your hideous face.” His dark eyes narrowed and stared through me, penetrating my very soul. “Why don’t you go back out the way you came, darling, and I shall look upon you next when I greet you in the depths of Hell.”

He laughed, loud and dark. “How I’ve longed for this banter, my dear, you know how I love when you insult me.”

“Piss off, Wesley.” He remained silent. I tried to remember a time when he wasn’t running his mouth, a time when he’d been silent like this. I could think of no such time. “If you’re here to kill me, get on with it. There’s a gun in the kitchen. Better yet, sweetheart, I’ve a nice, long knife hanging just above the stove top. Fetch that, and you can put it right here.” I jabbed a finger into my own abdomen, just below the center of the ribcage. “Cut me open and sell my organs on Ebay.”

Wesley frowned. “What, pray-tell, is Ebay?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You should leave the mountains more often, Wes. You’re missing out on an awful lot.”

“Are you in shape enough to have a serious conversation with me?” Finally, he was done playing games.

“Not necessarily,” I replied. “Maybe it would be best if you just… leave.”

He stared at me, and I could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his nostrils flared in irritation. “Perhaps I will.” And, to my dismay, he spun on his heel and headed for the door. Before walking out of the apartment, he said, over his shoulder, “You’ll never be rid of me, love, and you know it. See you soon, Kat.”

The door slammed shut behind him and I immediately jumped up and re-locked the door, all three locks. I ran across the apartment to the bedroom where I closed and locked the window, then I proceeded to scurry around and check every other window at least ten times each to be sure I was sealed tightly inside. I couldn’t believe he left, just like that. Had I imagined him?

I fell face first into the bed, panicking and terrified, and screamed into my pillow. I screamed until my throat burned, the screams slowly turning to sobs, and then I cried. At first, I couldn’t believe that I was actually crying. But pain erupted from my gut, saltwater seeped from my eyes, and I couldn’t resist the urge to curl up into a ball on the bed, hugging my knees into my chest. My body shook as I sobbed, unable to stop, unable to control myself as I cried and cried, for the first time in years.