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“Let’s talk.”
“I don’t have time. I gotta go.” He opened the door to his house and disappeared inside.
She followed.
“Cal, what happened?”
“You have to go. You’re the police.” He ran around looking for something—what? “I can’t talk to you. Fuck!”
He ran to his bedroom and she heard something slam, then something move. She stood in the doorway and he was standing on a step stool to reach the top shelf of his closet.
Her eye spotted the small gun safe he was unlocking.
“Stop,” she told him.
“I don’t have time. I gotta go!”
“Cal, do not reach for that gun.”
“It’s not loaded!”
He wasn’t listening to her. She didn’t believe that he was going to shoot her, but clearly he was panicked, and she didn’t think he’d be able to hit the broad side of a barn right now.
All of a sudden, he stumbled, fell off the stool, then sat on the edge of his bed.
“She has them. She has Jamie and Hazel.”
“Marcy Anderson.”
He nodded, looked at her, his eyes glassy with fear. “She said if I called the FBI she’d kill Jamie.”
From the doorway, Marcy Anderson watched the beautiful little girl sleep in the dim light. Dark curly hair just like her dad, back when he’d let it grow long. Big blue eyes. Chubby little hands. Three years old... Marcy had lost out on the first three years of Hazel’s life, but no more. From now on, Hazel was hers.
Hazel should have been Marcy’s from the beginning.
She kissed the precious little girl on her forehead and left the room, closing the door behind her. The cough medicine would ensure she slept a while longer.
Marcy walked around the cabin. It was a nice place, clean lines, simple. Hazel’s grandfather owned it, but he was rarely here—maybe five, six times a year. There was no clutter. She’d already made sure there were no weapons Cal could use against her—a shotgun, unloaded, was in the corner of the master bedroom closet. The shells were in the nightstand drawer. She moved them to a bathroom drawer on the off chance Cal knew about the shotgun. No knives outside of the kitchen. She hid all those knives high in the cabinets, along with anything that could be used against her. A few heavy objects remained in the living room, but she didn’t see Cal grabbing something and throwing it at her, or if he did, being effective before she could respond. And if he did something stupid like grab a gun before he arrived? He would know the bitch he thought he loved would suffer before she died.
It was nearly five. Cal would be here soon. Marcy would be reasonable with him. Sit down and explain how things needed to be. They’d go to Canada and restart their life together—the life they would’ve had if...
Marcy wasn’t stupid. Cal thought he loved Jamie, but clearly Jamie didn’t feel the same. He must see that. After all, Jamie kept postponing their wedding. Why couldn’t he read the writing on the wall? The woman was keeping him around until she found someone better.
Marcy had loved Cal from the day she met him. They were friends, and they were lovers, and it was good. She was what he wanted. She’d researched him, studied him closely, knew what type of girls he liked (tall brunettes, so she was a natural—Jamie was short with mousy brown hair, so why did he even want her?). She knew what he liked to do (anything with boats, action-adventure movies, and reading science fiction). She had taken a picture of his bookshelf after their first date, picked out one of the science fiction series, bought all of them used and put them in her apartment. She read them so she could talk about the stories. That’s what led him to ask her out the first time.
“I’ve never met a girl who liked Orson Scott Card,” he’d said. He’d been impressed that she knew every book, every plotline.
It was great for a while. She wanted to move in, he didn’t like the idea. He had roommates...she had a lease...she had a plan to get rid of Lisa, get her transferred, and then ask him to move in and take over her lease. But before she could make that happen, he started pulling away. So she got more inventive in bed, doing things all guys loved, and she stopped taking the pill because if she got pregnant they would get married and everything would be great.
But after a month, she still wasn’t pregnant and he broke up with her. It didn’t even happen dramatically, just one night she went over to his place, and he didn’t want to go to bed. He said, “I think we’d be better as friends, Marcy, you know? Just friends.”
She’d agreed. If she went all mega-drama on him, she’d never win him back.
So she hung out on the fringes. Did all the right things. Was there if he changed his mind. And waited.
It took years, but then Greg and Diana’s wedding came, and they were both there. Cal remembered how much he loved her. He even told Marcy that he’d missed her...and they went up to his hotel room and had sex. It was amazing, his orgasm had been explosive, and she was positive she would get pregnant—it happened at the same time she should be ovulating, proving that fate wanted them together.
So when he left the next day and didn’t return her calls, she didn’t worry. When she told him she was pregnant, he’d come back.
