The Dead Room

50

Jamie walked down the garage steps lugging her suitcase, a battered black monstrosity she had purchased shortly before her honeymoon. It had travelled with her to St Lucia and then later, throughout the States with Dan and the kids. She hoisted it into the back of the minivan and stared at it for some moments.

I’m really doing this, she thought. I’m just going to jump in my car with the kids and drive west until we find San Diego.

She had been fine at the bank. When she gave the teller the signed form to close her savings and chequing accounts, she had expected a moment of panic. Instead, she’d had a burst of clarity. The teller came back with an envelope holding a little over five grand in cash, and when she held it, she knew leaving was the only way she could protect her kids now. To do it right, she’d need to create new identities for them. She knew how to do it. Carter was too young to understand, but Michael would. First, she would have a long talk with him about Ben Masters. Not now. Later, once they got settled. She walked out of the back smiling at the thought of a fresh start, a brand-new slate for all of them.

That feeling changed when she went to the liquor store in Wellesley Hills.

The young-looking guy who worked behind the counter – tall and lanky with thick black hair and smooth tanned skin – had gone out of his way to find some larger boxes. He insisted on bringing them out to the car.

‘Are you Jamie Russo?’ he asked.

She stared at him, wondering how he had recognized her.

He blushed. ‘You sort of look like her. That’s why I was asking.’

She nodded. ‘I’m… ah… ah… Jamie.’

‘I sort of knew your husband. Dan would come in every other week or so and buy a bottle of Johnnie Walker. We’d talk about the Sox or whatever for a bit. Your husband was a real good guy, and I… I’m sorry about what happened to him and… everything else.’

Dan bought a bottle of booze once a week, she thought numbly as she drove home. How long had you been doing that, Dan? I never saw you drinking during the week – then again, how could I, since you were spending all of your time in the basement. What were you doing down there? Why were you drinking so much? And how come I never saw a single empty Johnnie Walker bottle in the recycling bin? Did you hide them in the rubbish?

Jamie felt a sudden rising tide of bitterness aimed at this liquor store clerk who owned some piece of her husband she didn’t know – would never know. A part of her wanted to turn around, drive back to the liquor store and interrogate him. Do you know why my husband was drinking so much? Did he seem upset? Did he tell you anything? How did he act? Tell me about every conversation you remember because I want to fill this goddamn hole I’ve been carrying inside my chest for the past five years.

She didn’t turn around, just kept driving, suddenly aware about how she would always be anchored to Wellesley. By leaving, she would never know why Dan was killed. Sure, she could take some satisfaction in knowing Ben Masters was dead, but Kevin Reynolds was still out there, Reynolds and this still unknown third man, Judas.

She kept checking her rear-view and side mirrors to see if anyone was tailing her. By leaving now, she realized that no matter where she went, this was how she would spend the rest of her life – always looking in her rear-view mirror, always looking over her shoulder.

Jamie slammed the hatchback shut, went inside the house and grabbed the keys from the kitchen drawer for the dead room.

Michael was helping Carter select which toys to pack. She had given each a single box; she wouldn’t have any more room inside the minivan with the clothes and boxes of documents and other paperwork she didn’t want to leave behind. She had expected some resistance to this whole sudden pack-up-and-leave plan, maybe even a change of heart. Michael went right to work without any argument. Carter kept asking if they were going to live at Disney World.

She opened the door to the dead room and closed it behind her. Bright sunlight flooded the room. The furniture was still here, washed of blood, and she had thrown out the old bedding. All that remained were the mattress and the dusty valance covering the box spring.

She grabbed the pictures from the walls and placed them inside the box, thinking about the minivan, how Kevin Reynolds had stood only a few feet from it this morning.

So close, she thought. He was so goddamn close, if only I had stepped out of the minivan more quickly…

She heard a car pull into her driveway. She went to the window and saw a black Honda.

Oh my Jesus, that looks like Kevin Reynolds’s car.

Jamie dropped the box, about to call out for the kids, when she saw a man in black trousers and matching short-sleeved shirt stepping outside. Father Humphrey.

She didn’t want to invite him inside the house, didn’t feel like fielding questions about her sudden move. She ran back downstairs and hit the button to open a garage bay.

Father Humphrey rushed inside, face flushed.

‘Good, I’m glad I caught you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been calling you all afternoon.’

‘I… ah… stepped… ah –’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Humphrey brushed past her, knees cracking, and walked across the garage. He hit the button for the bay door.

‘What… ah… ah…’ She couldn’t get the words out, watching Humphrey dart around the minivan to look through a window.

‘Has anyone come by the house?’ he asked. ‘Anyone you haven’t recognized?’

Every muscle in her body tensed.

Humphrey moved away from the window. ‘How do you know a man named Kevin Reynolds?’

Jamie opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. The dread she’d been carrying wrapped its tentacles around her throat.

‘His sister lives in Wellesley, not far from here,’ Humphrey said. ‘You might’ve seen her in church. She’s a good woman, but I can’t say the same about Kevin. A mean bastard, that one.’

‘How… ah… ah… how… how…’

‘Just listen to me,’ he said. ‘Just listen and let me do the talking.’

Humphrey’s wrinkled face and bloodshot eyes kept disappearing behind the hot, bright stars exploding across her vision.

‘Kevin comes to me for confession every now and then. He came to confession about an hour ago. Afterwards, I found him sitting inside the pew. He wanted to have a friendly chit-chat about the church, fundraisers and so forth. Then he worked his way into asking questions about you. He knows what happened here and asked if I knew you, if you still lived in the area.’

Get the kids, she thought. Get them and leave.

‘Being the good Catholic you are,’ he said, ‘I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you the seal on confession. How a priest cannot break it even under the threat of death. I’m a man of God, but I’m also a man – wait, Jamie, come back!’

She ran for the stairs.

Father Humphrey caught up with her inside the foyer. He grabbed her by the arm, pulled her back.

‘Calm down.’ He shook her. ‘Calm down and listen!’

She screamed and tried to push him away.

‘I have people who can help you, Jamie. These people have helped women like yourself, victims of crime – they’ve helped entire families start new lives in places where men like Kevin Reynolds can never find you. I’m going to call these people. They’ll be here in under an hour.’

‘L-l-l-l-l-leave.’

‘A man like Kevin Reynolds has the resources to find you. These people will make sure he can’t. And you don’t have to worry about money. They’ll help you until you get established, okay? I’ll help you pack until they arrive.’

She pushed him away and ran for the stairs.

Jamie opened her mouth to speak, to tell the kids to get downstairs right now, they were leaving. The words died in her throat as a clear plastic bag was wrapped over her head.