Abandoned

CHAPTER FIVE

The man stares at the email on his screen and begins to shiver. He can’t help it. The terror is instant and absolute. The email says:

You’ve run out of chances. I left you something in your backyard.

There’s no signature to the email, but none is needed. He knows who sent it.

God, oh God, why didn’t I do what he asked?

He glances toward the rear of his home, where the sliding glass door leads into his backyard. A feeling of dread speeds up his heart, making it thud in his chest. Hard, too hard.

Am I having a heart attack?

He glances at the email again, then back at the sliding glass door. He closes his eyes.

Pull yourself together.

He stands up and walks away from the computer in his downstairs office. He leaves the email up on the screen. He’s aware of every step he makes across the walnut hardwood floor. He’s almost counting them.

This little piggy had a nightmare, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy burned in hell forever … It’s going to be bad.

He knows this because he knows the man he’s dealing with. Well, no, that’s not quite accurate. If he really knew, in that deep-down kind of way, he would never have failed to hold up his end of the bargain. He edits the phrase: He knows the man he’s dealing with now.

He arrives at the sliding-glass door and peers through it. It’s late morning, and the sun is wrestling the clouds for dominance. He has a large backyard, filled with the overwatered green grass that Californians favor. He sees it right away and squints.

What the hell is that?

It looks like a black vinyl bag, with a … straw? Is that a clear straw poking out of it?

The thudding in his chest gets harder, if that’s possible. Something worms around in his brain. Black vinyl bag … he has a word for a bag that looks like that, doesn’t he? Yes, he does. Yes, indeed.

Body bag.

He swallows bile and slides the door open. He walks across the concrete of his patio. He’s barefoot, and the grass is damp and cool against the bottoms of his feet. He hardly notices. The bag holds all his attention.

It is shiny in the sun. A heavy-duty zipper runs the length of it. The straw (because he can confirm that now) is clear tubing, poking through a hole that was made in the bag.

Don’t open it!

The voice in his head is loud, a fearful shout. It’s probably good advice.

He gets down on both knees in the grass, oblivious to the dirt and water stains that are soaking into his khaki pants. He reaches for the zipper. His hand hesitates above it.

Last chance. You can still turn back.

He gulps down a breath, grips the zipper, and opens it halfway before he can think about it any further.

He sees her face and he staggers on his knees, almost swooning. “Dana!”

The words expel from him in a kind of low gasp, as if he’s been punched in the stomach.

She’s there. The straw is taped to her mouth, the tape covering her lips. There is something very, very wrong with her eyes. They’re clear but empty. Nothing intelligent stares back at him.

“God, oh God …” he whispers.

She was supposed to go on a spa trip yesterday. Two-day affair, a little getaway. She didn’t call last night, but he hadn’t been worried. He’d had too much on his mind.

“Sorry, honey, God, I’m sorry, let me get that straw out of your mouth.” He’s babbling and he knows it but is helpless to stop.

He removes the tape as gently as he can, and pulls the tubing from her mouth.

Her mouth falls open and stays there, slack. Drool runs from it as she stares, unblinking, at the sky. There is a smell coming from the bag. It takes him a minute to place it. He recoils when he does. Urine and feces.

“Dana?” he askes, not really hoping for an answer. Her throat works a little, and he thinks she might be responding. He leans forward, ignoring the stench from the bag. “Honey?”

She belches, once, long and loud. She smacks her lips and resumes her drooling.

He skitters backward on his hands and feet, trying to put distance between himself and the horror of it. He falls onto his back in the grass and finds himself staring up at the sky, which is blue, and the sun, which has broken from the clouds. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day in Southern California.

He flips onto his hands and knees and begins to vomit into the over-green grass.