She Knows

She Knows

She knows. She knows where I am. She knows where I live, restaurants I like to eat at, the school our kids go to. I moved three states away but it still wasn’t enough. She still knows. I told the police and they don’t believe me. When I asked for a restraining order against her they said that paranoia was a normal response for someone in my position. They attempted to assure me that they wouldn’t let anything happen to me and the kids. This is the bullshit my tax dollars go toward. Half assed promises and even worse protection. I left the police station knowing that I was in this alone. I knew it would happen. I knew they would think I was crazy after I put the bars on the window of our house. They didn’t see the six deadbolts I put on the inside. Three locked, and three unlocked in case someone tries to pick them. That way they would always be locking three no matter what they did. I’m not crazy, I’m cautious. I know what she’s capable of. I’ve seen her do it. The kids don’t seem to remember her, or they’ve decided not to bring her up; to me anyway. They stopped asking where their mother was and I never felt the need to tell them.

We had a typical marriage, save for a few hiccups along the road but what marriage didn’t have those. We were pretty much polar opposites and we respected each other’s orbit except when it came to singing. She was an exceptional singer. One day, during our newlywed stage, we found the local bar hosting a karaoke night. It was too early for a big crowd but she wanted to go in anyway. We walked in to the scattered few and ordered a beer apiece. Nicole's eyes were glued to the stage while I watched a sports highlight show on a muted tv behind the bartender. A couple beers in and Nicole wanted us to do a song together. Now I couldn't hold a tune if you gave it to me in a bucket, but I was crazy about her and didn’t want to disappoint her so early in. I told her to pick a short, simple song so we sang I Got You Babe by Sonny and Cher. With her long hair and my moustache, we were a dead ringer except I was off key the entire time. We got decent applause, more so for her I believe. She smiled the whole way home. She became a regular at karaoke night before the kids came. Once there was a prize of $200 that she won. Song was Angie Baby by Helen Reddy and she sang it so much I feared one day Helen would sue.

She knows me well. Knows me better than I know myself sometimes and that’s what I loved about her. I could be an open book around her. What a blessing it was to have someone know things without me having to say a word. She was so observant. The kids could come into the room and she would just know. Knew if they had any problems or aches without even asking a question. They didn’t hide anything from her and neither did I. There was no need to. Even my mother loved her, and that was a miracle in itself. My mother hated every girl I’ve ever dated. Every single, solitary one. Once Mom approved, I knew that she was the woman I had to have in my life forever.

She wasn’t perfect. Sometimes she was too observant, troubling herself over other people’s problems. That was beyond annoying. I would tell her that and she would just look at me. She would stand there, not moving, not blinking. I would just hold my hands up in mock surrender and back out of the room. I took it as her empathy for others taking over her common sense instead of what it really was: she was obsessive. What I thought was paying close attention to detail was something deeper, something darker. She would get upset if I would iron my own shirt while she got the kids ready for school, so I would sit Indian style in the middle of the bed in my undershirt and wait for her. She didn’t like that I could do things without her, and I would have to remind her that I was a 34-year-old man. There are plenty of things that I could do and have done without her.

You know that feeling you get when you can sense someone’s presence? Not like a ghost, but a real-live actual person. Someone you’ve been around for so long that you can just feel them there...smell their scent you’re so familiar with. That happened to me today. At work. I was at my desk, on the computer, playing an intense game of Battleship when I smelled it. I stopped moving, the only sound I could hear was my own heaving breathing. It was safe to say I was scared shitless. The only woman in my department was Victoria, whose perfume was so strong we always kept a window open. Even in the winter time. I stood up and looked around the other cubicles, scanning the balding and thin haired heads of my coworkers. I had just looked into the lobby when my body began to shake. The fear from that night returned and I didn’t understand why. There was no one in the lobby but a senile, old woman. Must be Norman’s mother. The man was damn near 40 and his mother still made his lunch. Her seat was turned directly towards my desk, but when she saw me, she didn't wave. She was just there, unmoving. I sat back at my desk, confident that I was just overreacting. I stood up again, just to make sure. Norman’s mother was gone.

I was feeling jumpy. Nervous and I didn't understand why. I’m a creature of habit, so when I needed a place to think I would go to the lake. Being around any body of water calmed me. It's a mixture of the water rippling, mirroring the surrounding trees, buildings, with the occasional passerby that brings me peace. It’s the simple pleasures in life. I was at the lake when I felt that prickling feeling under my arms and began to sweat again. There was no one there but me and a man on a boat, reading a newspaper. Or at least he was. I figured he was asleep because he hadn't turned a page since I’d been there. I had to get out of here. The kids would be home from school soon. As I stood to go, the fisherman looked up. I waved at him and he sat there. Not moving, not blinking. Apparently, it would be a long time before I made friends in this town.

What followed was a long night of undercooked food and homework questions, most of which we ended up googling. I was tired. Making sure the kids were in bed, I made my rounds around the house. No window or door went unlocked. We didn't even have a dog because he would have to be let out frequently meaning the doors would always be open, and I couldn't afford to have that happen. As I rounded the corner to check the back door, I could smell that smell again. Her smell. Woodsy, slightly floral, and soft. She must have heard my footsteps falter because she said in a loud, clear voice:

“Come here, Richard. I know you’re out there.”

“I can’t right now”, I called out. “I have to go set all of the clocks back. Daylight savings time, you know.”

She chuckled and came into the hallway where I stood, a butcher knife held high in her right hand.

“It’s alright”, she said. “I’ve been following you around for a while anyway. Three states, Richard? You moved three states away into this house?” She took a quick glance around, disapproval etched onto her face. “This house definitely needs a woman’s touch”.

“What are you doing here, Nicole? You’re supposed to be in Maine. Locked away. Forever”, I say with as much dignity as I can with a trembling voice. She smirked. She knows that she has me rattled. Damn her. She walks towards the bookcase, straightening the pictures there and brings forward the one from last Christmas. The fourth Christmas we spent without her. I clear my throat; uncomfortable and unsure how long her trip down Memories-You-Had-Without-Me Lane would last. She put the picture back in its place and sighs. By the way her head hangs I can tell she misses the kids. How much she loves them, even.

“Remember that song, Richard?”.

“Huh?”

“That song I used to sing.”

I look at her. “Song?”

“You know the song, Richard.” She’s about to yell. I know it. “You know the song, Richard”, she repeats. “Don’t act like you don’t know because you do. You know the song, Richard”. She starts crying.

“Nicole”, I say as gently as I can, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She clenches the knife. “You know, that’s what I hated about you most Richard”, she said then, her voice shrill. “Do you know that?”

She steps forward, I step backwards. All those years of her trying to get me to dance, and it finally pays off.

“Nicole, really. I’m not bullshitting you. I really don’t know. Sing it again. Sing a part of it. Hum it so I can remember,” I beg desperately.

She shakes her head and laughs the quietest laugh I have ever heard in my life. Then she stands there. Not blinking, not moving. Afraid to move, I stand there letting my sweat baptize me in fear as she lunges forward to strike me with the knife, but I step backwards again, slipping in a puddle of my own sweat. I hit my head on the Cherrywood china cabinet as everything went dark. I knew we should've gotten carpet.

*****

When I come to, I’m in a hospital. I don't know how long I’ve been out of it. I strain my eyes to make out the numbers on the calendar on the wall by the door. Nope. I can’t see a thing. My mouth is uncomfortably dry so I pushed a button on the side of the bed and whispered my request. That was five minutes ago and just as I was contemplating drinking my own tears a team of doctors and nurses rush in. Poking and probing and not a single ice cube between the five of them. There’s that smell again. Frantically, I look around trying to locate her and that fucking butcher’s knife. Three pairs of arms try to hold me down as my heart rate accelerates. The machine beside me beeps erratically. She’s here. I know she is. I feel a needle in my veins, and the liquid weakens me. “SHE’S HERE” I cry, but no one hears me. I’m unable to speak so the words remain trapped in my head. Echoing.

As the machine keeps a steady beat, I hear the door open and feet shuffle as they leave, my hearing still as good as ever. Just as I was beginning to let the drugs overtake me, I hear a small, quiet laugh and one of the nurses whispers to me, “Everything will be fine, Richard. I’ll tell the kids you said hi.”