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“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” she hurls the question at me, her voice raised.
I stay calm. “Because I don’t want you to go through this alone, whatever it is. I’m here for you, Cathy.”
“Well, it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing?” I step forward and narrow my eyes at her. “Is that what I mean to you? Nothing?”
Cathy doesn’t answer.
“Cathy, you’re my fiancee,” I point out.
“Your fake fiancee,” she reminds me. “Have you forgotten?”
Is that how she still thinks of herself?
“Well, you’re my girlfriend,” I tell her.
After all, she’s been living with me, sleeping in the same bed with me.
Cathy looks at me. “Am I?”
I frown. “Is that what this is about? Are you pushing me away because you don’t want to be with me anymore? Because you don’t feel the same way for me as I do for you?”
Again, she doesn’t answer.
“Well, I don’t care,” I tell her. “Because you can’t push me away. I’m not going anywhere.”
I reach for her hand.
“I love you, Cathy.”
She pulls her hand away. “Well, you shouldn’t. I don’t deserve your love.”
My eyebrows furrow. “What? How can you say that?”
“You only fell in love with me because I was Trisha’s best friend.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. If I wasn’t, you’d never have met me. You know what? I wish you hadn’t. I wish I wasn’t Trisha’s best friend. Then I wouldn’t be feeling like this now, like I’m being torn apart over and over.”
She clutches her shirt with trembling hands. The sight drives a thorn into my chest.
“Don’t say that.” I put my arms around her. “You being Trisha’s best friend is the best thing that ever happened to her.”
She shakes her head. “No, it isn’t. If she hadn’t met me, she’d still be alive.”
I pull away. “What do you mean…?”
Cathy looks away. Why? Why does she seem so dejected? And why won’t she tell me the reason?
“Cathy…”
She turns her back to me. “You should really just leave me alone.”
I frown. That again.
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but it will pass. Everything will be alright.”
“How would you know? You don’t know how I feel.”
“I would if you told me.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I could try.”
Cathy doesn’t answer.
I draw a deep breath. “Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just guess.”
Nothing.
“You feel like you’re being dragged back into the past again, don’t you?”
She still says nothing, but I get the feeling I’m right.
“That’s fine. You were able to let go of it once already. You can do it again.”
“I can’t!” Her shoulders tremble as her hands clench into fists at her sides. “Can’t you see? I’ve tried to get away but it’s no use. Because the fear, the nightmares, they’re all in here.”
She points to her head as she turns to face me, then places her hand over her chest.
“And here. I can’t get away from them.”
“But you can,” I tell her. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t!” Cathy shakes her head. A tear trickles down her cheek. “You shouldn’t even try. If you do, your life will just be ruined. Yours and Maisie’s. You’ll just die because of me.”
I grab her arm. “Cathy, what are you saying?”
“Leave me alone!” She wrenches her arm away and looks into my eyes. “There’s nothing you can do for me, Jackson. You can’t protect me. Your love can’t save me. You should just give up on me.”
I shake my head. “No. I – ”
“For Maisie’s sake,” she cuts me off as she steps beside me. “I don’t belong in her life. Or in yours.”
She walks past me and goes back into the house, leaving me even more confused than before.
~
I’m still mulling over last night’s conversation in frustration when the doorbell rings. I frown.
Who can that be? Betty? She always seems to pop up at the worst times.
I walk to the door.
Well, if it’s her, I’ll just tell her that I’m busy, which isn’t a lie. I’m about to wake Maisie up to bring her to daycare since Cathy is long gone. I don’t even know where she is.
I square my shoulders and open the door, ready to unload a piece of my mind on the person on the other side. To my surprise, though, it’s not Betty standing there, nor anyone I’ve seen before.
Three men stand on the front steps, all of them dressed like cops. The sight of their black uniforms makes me tense instinctively.
The last time I talked to cops was right after Trisha’s death. Something bad had happened then. I have a feeling something bad’s about to happen now.
“Mr. Jackson Holloway?” One of the cops, the one with the mustache, steps forward.
“Yes,” I answer.
He shows me his badge. “I’m Sergeant Danny Watts from Sausalito PD. These are Officers Roger McMillan and Henry Knox from the town of Staggart in Wisconsin.”
Staggart? That’s the name of the town where Trisha died. Why did police from there come all the way here?
