She awoke and clumsily reached for a bedside lamp, withdrew and listened. White noise from a small box fan was the only sound present, instead of the faint laughter she had dreamt – or thought she’d heard. Next to the bedside, the black and white Shar Pei perked its ears, before letting out a tiny yelp, startling the young woman. Her skin pimpled as she shivered slightly, lying atop the black satin covers as she reached again for the bedside light, finding the switch this time, bathing the darkened interior in ominous shadows.
Unable to control her emotions effectively, she struggled to turn to the figure asleep next to her. “Rich, hey, wake up!” Her voice came out shaky as she felt the tears welling up in her eyes the way they always did when she was scared.
“…Huh,” he managed.
“Wake up, please. I think I heard something.” Now, on all fours, the tiny dog barked again, this time a much more urgent report, this time, from the commotion.
“Trina, shh…okay, okay,” he muttered, still half-asleep.
The second-level master bedroom featured large windows, each overlooking three sides of the newly built home. The man, still somewhat groggy, glanced towards an interior wall from the warmth and security of the oversized floatation bed. Grabbing at a pair of gold, wire-framed magnifiers, he stepped out and away from the comfort that had held him fast asleep.
Standing six feet tall with a slender build, he wandered closer to the wall he had looked at previously. Eyeglasses perched forward for viewing, he read ‘OK’ in red letters on the alarm panel. Grabbing a fleece robe from behind the door, he quietly moved towards the master suite sliding door that led onto the balcony. The little dog trailed close behind, ready to assist.
Heavy drapes hung near a darker carpeting and up high, floral valances capped off the lavish window treatments. Pulling open a small section of the covering, his eyes peered out, scanning the darkness. He clutched at the fabric and the transparent sheer tucked behind. Straining forward for a better view, he let out a gasp. The insulated glass, wet from the overnight storms offered no curtain for the sight appearing in the distance. Stunned, he froze momentarily, regaining his composure after a moment.
“What is it?” the woman called out, pulling up the bed covers.
Saying nothing, he reached for the cordless telephone atop the nightstand. Pushing a single key on the lighted dial pad, he waited, then spoke slowly, precisely into the mouthpiece.
“Derrin, you there, pick up? We have a big problem,” he spoke into the mouthpiece. “I don’t know why, but she’s dead, right outside my-.”
From the other side of the line, a male’s voice forcefully interrupted. “Dick, your Chief of Staff shouldn’t have been your first call, but never mind that. Hang up, right now, and don’t say anything else. Call 911,” the voice, fierce on the other side, advised, concerned. Adding to the instructions, “I’ll make some calls, but this couldn’t come at a worse time!”
Hands shaking, the unusually quiet gentleman quickly pressed ‘Disconnect’ and immediately dialed ‘9-1-1,’ waiting for the call to connect. Turning to the woman, he put a finger to his lips.
“Yes, hello, please send the p-police to my home now. Ma’am, I’m sorry, I’m just a little shook up right now. There is something outside in my front yard. And it looks like a body, like the other girls.”
Turning back, his hands trembling, he drew the drapes open wider, adjusting his glasses; his shoulder cradled the phone. Inaudible, the voice on the other end was calm and reassuring, questioning.
Carefully, “Yes, ma’am, thank you, that is my address.” Brief pause.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s me and yes, it’s just me.” Another pause.
“No, ma’am, I can’t see anything other than that and I’m not about to go outside.”
One final directive and question, perhaps.
“I will check and make sure, but yes, the alarm’s still set.”
Pause. “Okay, please tell them to hurry.”
Still gripping the handset, his head shook from side to side in perplexity as he stared out, shocked, unmoving. Turning to the much younger woman who had already moved in to stand beside him, he quietly spoke. “Sara, they asked if I was alone.”
Nothing.
He continued. “Of course, you heard me tell them I was.”
She stared out at the horror through the sliding door, holding aside the transparent material, unsure if she should be worried. Her voice remained quiet. Tousled blond hair hung, draping her shoulders, framing her expression of fear, of sympathy. Suddenly insecure, her mind fought, negotiating blindly; her constrained, silent words of uncertainty planned thoughtlessly. This man she had known for a short time stood mere inches away. He would either pull the rug out from underneath her, an unselfish blanket of companionship, not to mention financial aid – or he wouldn’t. She backed away; he followed.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked.
“So…what does this mean? Do I need to leave?” she inquired, eyes wide, wary. She had now retreated to the hallway just off the suite.
In pursuit, he continued. “In a few hours, hopefully nothing. But right now – well, you know, it doesn’t look good.”
Momentarily stepping away, he reached from behind the door, returning a neatly pressed Oxford dress shirt. “But, relax, I’m not going to make you leave, but you’re better off; hell, let’s face it, we’re both better off if you just stay out of the picture.” Holding open the garment for her, he reaffirmed his commitment.
Immediate complacency replaced her selfish fear of abandonment as she accepted the invitation into the monogrammed button down. “Okay, yer’ the boss, Mr. RJS. Just tell me where?”
“Probably down- downstairs in the utility room. But you’ll have to leave the big light off, you know? I doubt that they will search inside the house, so you’re probably safe for now.”
“Sure, I guess. I’m pretty much safe now, but still in the dark anyway. At least, that’s what yer’ always sayin’ unless yer’ callin’ me a whore, complaining and comparing me to those other girls.” A lack of concern for details, she left the oversized shirt unbuttoned, letting it loosely cover her petite but busty figure.
Richard Stahl managed a weak smile. “I’m just trying to look out for you, you know that, right?”
She had already turned towards the stairs, descending. “Yeah, just like yer’ gonna leave…” her voice trailed, echoing off the textured wallboard.
Returning to the master suite, he stealthily walked back towards the patio sliding door. Peering through a row of shrubberies, he let his gaze fall to the helpless victim savaged in his front yard. An intruder had breached his private home, which he’d falsely regarded as a haven, safe from the ‘outside.’ Instead, his domain was under attack by one or more unknowns. Studying, he made out what he determined was her silhouette outlined in a ring of seemingly endless candles, the carnage resembling a one-sided debate on gross exhibition.
He shuddered, blinking away the last few minutes as red and weary eyes wandered in closer, mesmerized by the small streams that flooded the entire balcony; floodlights from an exterior-mounted fixture illuminated as they caught reflections off the rainpour. Like bouncing rubber pellets, they volleyed across the well-preserved redwood deck; uncontrollably, the pools grew in size and proportion.
Strangely familiar, he likened the sight to everyday existence, each circular entity managing a semi-charmed existence for a short time. Yet, opposed to their individuality, they sought their significance by joining others and, therefore, losing themselves. Unyielding to a state of finite space, overcrowding constantly forced the structures over the edge every few minutes or so.
His thoughts settled on the very near future. Elections for the 3rd Congressional District seat were scheduled in a few weeks. An outcry from the community on several issues affecting Kentucky’s economy, agriculture and healthcare would likely guarantee a Republican nomination, forcing the opposition over the edge.
Granting a victorious outcry of his own.
Yes, bad timing, indeed.