Authors: Ray Kingfisher
25
‘You don’t go for the idea, do you?’ Beth said.
‘Of killing Rozita? Not exactly.’
‘You’ve got some feelings for her?’
‘She’s my wife.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’
Patrick paused for a moment and looked out over the parking lot. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m kidding.’ He turned as the waitress approached and eased back from the table to let her slide the tray onto it.
They’d stopped at some café in some small town that must have been something like the halfway point. The café was surrounded by the kind of flat featureless expanses of cornfields and wheatfields that seemed all this part of the country had to offer, some of them seemingly the size of an entire English county. But Patrick didn’t much care for the details. He cared that he was hungry – and a whole lot more.
His tray had a cheeseburger, double fries and large cola. Beth’s had an omelette, small fries, and fruit juice.
She nodded to his food. ‘You’re sure getting into the American way of life.’
‘To tell you the truth I’d prefer beans on toast with a large mug of tea.’
‘You could have asked for that.’
‘I didn’t think it was worth it.’
‘No, no. They’d have thought you were…’
‘Crazy?’
‘No, just odd. Or British.’ Beth took a shot of fruit juice and licked her lips. ‘Do you miss Britain?’
‘Not just at the moment,’ Patrick said. ‘I’ve got more important things to worry about.’
‘Sure. Sorry.’
‘But yes, I do.’
‘You still got family back there?’
‘Nobody I see too often. I have Declan, my brother, who’s over here. Works in LA I think. I should see him more often. You’ve reminded me, I have to ring him, arrange to meet up in a few weeks. I think I might need the break.’
‘Mom and Dad still in England?’
‘Forever.’
‘You don’t think they’ll come over to visit?’
‘I know they won’t.’ Patrick squinted at her. ‘Sorry, I’m teasing. They died when Declan and me were young.’
‘Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘They died together?’
‘House fire.’ Patrick stopped chewing, turned his face to one side and pulled back his hair, revealing a thin vertical scar, like he’d fallen asleep with his face against a crease in the pillow. ‘See this?’
‘Oh my God, yeah. I didn’t notice, honestly.’
‘Well, it’s had a lot of years to recover. I had a few minor ops when I was a kid. Ruined my good looks, of course.’
Beth took a moment to swallow. ‘The only thing that would ruin your good looks would be decapitation.’
‘Oh, cheers.’
‘
“Cheers”
? Oh, yeah, I think I get that. Irony, yeah?’
Patrick nodded. ‘And what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Parents?’
‘I never see Dad, and Mom’s still in Tennessee.’
‘She never got hooked up with another guy?’
‘I don’t think she’s capable of that much trust in one person anymore.’
‘She lives on her own?’
Beth nodded.
‘What about your sister?’
‘Sister?’
‘In Wichita.’
‘Oh yeah – actually just a half-sister. She never sees Mom.’
‘Your mom must be very proud of you?’
‘It’s funny really. It’s only because of the mess she’s in I got where I am with my studies and OrSum.’
‘Mmm,’ Patrick said. ‘I can see that.’
‘You know, I think we’re all products of our parents more so than we realize, don’t you think?’
‘Perhaps.’ Patrick shrugged. ‘I never really knew mine well enough to agree or disagree.’
‘Hey, I’m sorry. That wasn’t a very cool thing to say.’
‘No worries.’ Patrick took a long slurp of cola then had to accommodate a belch. ‘See, you don’t get that with tea.’
‘You could have had tea with burger and fries. Would that work?’
‘Tea goes with everything,’ Patrick said. He took a few more mouthfuls, then said, ‘So, your dad. You’re never even tempted to see him again?’
‘No. Not after the argument we had.’
‘Sounds like the word “argument” doesn’t really cut it there.’
‘No, I guess not.’
Patrick stopped eating for a second and looked out again at the car park, and the traffic beyond racing both ways. ‘I hardly remember my mum and dad but I still miss them.’
Beth nodded slowly. ‘I’m sure you do.’
‘You honestly don’t miss your dad?’
Beth took a few mouthfuls of omelette followed by a long stretch of juice.
‘I’ll take that as a “no”,’ Patrick said.
‘When I was a little girl…’ Beth swallowed the last of her food and drew a few breaths. ‘And I don’t talk to many people about this. When I was a girl we lived in this house next to a lake. It wasn’t a huge lake, but we had our own little boat house and jetty, and there were only a handful of other places around the lake, so it felt like the lake was our family’s too. Dad used to take me out boating there. We had an emerald green boat with a cover over one end, and a few seats inside, enough space to sleep in, which we did a few times. Mom didn’t come with us. She was always afraid of water, but she used to bake all sorts of cakes for us to take. It’s difficult to explain, and I don’t know whether it makes sense, but even in a small lake like that you felt like you were leaving your troubles ashore. We’d just eat, do a little fishing, and read books. Dad wouldn’t let me take anything electrical like a radio, said it was our way of getting away from the rest of mankind and being part of nature.’
‘That’s a nice story,’ Patrick said. ‘Is sounds a really special place.’
‘It was – still is. That’s what I miss, boating on the lake with Dad.’
‘Is that why you moved to Chicago? For the lake?’
‘I like the lake. I don’t like boats anymore.’
‘Because it reminds you of your father?’
Beth grimaced and repositioned her knife and fork on her empty plate ‘You mind if we talk about something else.’
Patrick held is hands up. ‘No problem, just making conversation.’
‘So let’s talk about Rozita.’
‘Okay.’
‘You weren’t really kidding, were you? About having feelings for her?’
‘I feel like an idiot thinking that way.’
‘Hey, you can’t control who you have feelings for.’
‘But this is different, Beth – it’s not even a “who”, it’s just a character, an image in my mind. And I just don’t know how I’m going to react if she’s actually there in the flesh. You see…’ He leaned forward on the table and lowered his voice. ‘I don’t know what it is about her. She’s beautiful, intelligent, loving, a good mother. But there’s something else.’
‘I can tell you exactly what it is about her you find so attractive,’ Beth said.
‘You can?’
‘I know men better than you might think.’
‘So?’
‘It’s because she’s unattainable. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, Patrick. God knows I don’t pigeon-hole myself as a rabid feminist type – in spite of what my father did – but you’re a man, and men have a tendency to be attracted to women they can’t possibly have. A touch generalized I know, but pretty true.’
Patrick froze for a few moments, almost in a trance, then he looked up, his eyes red and heavy. ‘I’m scared, Beth. I don’t know how I’m going to react if she’s there.’
‘Oh, yes you do,’ Beth whispered. ‘We both know how you’re going to react.’
‘You mean…?’
Beth nodded.
‘You’re serious? About killing her?’ Patrick shook his head ‘You know, I really don’t think I could do that. Anyway, how would I do it?’
Beth spoke slowly. ‘You keep forgetting this is America. Not quite everyone has a gun, but certainly I do.’ She unzipped her jacket to reveal a holster with a small, white-handled pistol nestling in it, then zipped it back up.
‘Murder?’ Patrick’s hands started to tremble as he grabbed the table to steady himself. ‘Oh, God. Oh, no.’
‘Listen to me,’ Beth said. ‘Let’s get one thing straight – no, let’s get
two
things straight: one, you’ve never actually met this woman before, and two, you can’t murder someone who doesn’t exist.’
‘But if…’ Patrick closed his eyes. ‘Oh, I can’t take this. It’s crazy, just crazy.’
Beth checked her watch then stood up. ‘Come on, let’s pay up and get moving. I got plenty more miles to drive before we hit Wichita.’
26
As soon as they reached the outskirts of Wichita they stopped at the first motel with a flashing ‘Vacancies’ sign. It was soulless, but quiet, much as to be expected at half past midnight.
‘You sure you don’t mind sharing?’ Patrick said as they crunched on the gravel between reception and the furthest room from the road.
‘We’re sharing a room – not a bed,’ Beth said. ‘Besides, you really think I want to be on my own in a creepy place like this?’ After holding the keys up to the light she got the lock first time and opened the door. A stench of disinfectant flew out like a jailbreak.
‘Jesus!’ Patrick said as he followed her in.
‘That’s the smell of clean. Obviously your uber-male nose is unacquainted with it.’
‘You mean you like that?’ Patrick held the door and swung it back and forth a few times.
‘I guess it is a little strong. You could open a window.’ She waved a dismissive hand nowhere in particular. ‘Ahh, we’ll sleep, you see if we don’t.’
‘I hope so for your sake. Do you know we’ve been twelve hours on the road?’
‘You keep forgetting, this is America. Some folks drive five miles to their mail box, or do a thirty mile detour just to reach a place that sells good bagels. Seven hundred miles is not such a big deal.’
Patrick shut the door and stepped in front of her, noticing the way her eyes managed to look bright even when drained of all liveliness.
‘You look tired even if you’re not,’ he said.
‘I’m not.’
‘No?’
‘No. I’m fucking exhausted.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Too tired to eat?’ Patrick said.
Beth shrugged. ‘I’ll force myself.’
Patrick opened the door again and was handed a plate of sandwiches.
‘You kitchen staff as well as desk clerk?’ he said to the man.
‘And waiter,’ the man replied. ‘And concierge. I’m the staff till 7am. You’ll find drinks in the machine in the corner. Enjoy.’
‘Great,’ Patrick said. ‘Thanks for knocking these up at short notice.’
The man gave him a queer look and left.
Patrick placed the plate of sandwiches onto the small table between the beds and turned to Beth. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘I think the “knock up” reference threw him. And if you think they’re freshly made, you’ll change your mind when you taste them.’
Patrick grabbed one and took a tentative bite. He nodded slowly. ‘Not bad.’ He crammed the whole sandwich in and spoke while he chewed. ‘Not sure whether it’s cheese or meat, but it tastes okay.’
Beth kicked her shoes off, eased herself onto the bed nearest the bathroom and dropped a deep, almost terminal, sigh. Patrick got a couple of drinks from the vending machine and leapt onto the other bed.
A little over ten minutes later only one sandwich remained on the plate. Patrick fumbled around in his bag and brought out his small brown bottle.
Beth watched as he opened it, threw a couple of pink tablets into the back of his throat and took a swig of water. Then he picked up the last sandwich.
‘You not inquisitive?’ he said.
‘Huh?’
‘About the tablets.’
She shrugged. ‘I assume it’s not polite to ask.’ Then she lay back on the bed and let out a long groan. ‘We’d better get some shuteye,’ she said, pulling the bedcovers over her still-clothed body. ‘Big day ahead.’
Patrick got up to switch the light out. ‘God, this is odd,’ he said, untying his shoelaces.
‘What is?’
‘
What’s odd?
’ he said, laughing. ‘Well, when I was a kid…’ He got into bed and bounced his shoulder up and down a few times, testing the mattress. ‘When I was a kid growing up in Manchester I never dreamed I’d be in a Wichita motel room with a strange woman preparing to murder another woman I fell in love with but haven’t ever met in the real world.’
‘You surprise me. You have the strangest dreams. I wouldn’t bet against you having had weird dreams back in Man-chest-er.’ The last word was gnarled and twisted. It made Patrick laugh and almost choke on his mouthful of food.
He recovered, then said, ‘So do you go back home to Tennessee much?’
‘I spend a weekend there once a month.’
‘Just to see your mother?’
Beth nodded. ‘And I sometimes check out the old boathouse by the lake.’
‘Really? You still go back
there
?’
‘When I’m troubled. I know it sounds perverse, but whatever else life has to throw at me it can’t be as bad as all that shit I remember. Going back to old Lake Chikasaw helps me put things into some kind of perspective, I guess.’
‘Lake Chikasaw?’ Patrick said. ‘Sounds like an accident at a chicken ranch.’
Beth laughed, then straightened her face up instantly. ‘Hey. Don’t. I think it’s a lovely name.’
Patrick repeated the name quietly a few times. ‘Actually, yeah. I like it.’
For a few moments all they had to listen to was the hum of the distant traffic.
‘Beth?’
‘Only I’m tryin’ to sleep here.
What?
’
‘Oh, nothing. Sorry.’
‘Go on, shoot.’
‘Your dad. Do you really not see him just because of what he did to your mom?’
‘What d’you mean,
“just”
?’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You go to sleep.’
Beth shifted in the bed to glance over to Patrick. ‘I’ll go sleep when I’m good and ready.’
‘Sorry. Forget I asked. It’s just that I miss my dad. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would cut themselves off.’
‘Okay, listen.’ There was a long pause before Beth drew breath. ‘I’ll say this once. No questions. We went out boating on the lake – just the two of us – on that emerald green boat I loved. I was fifteen at the time and it split the family apart.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, you join the dots.’ The words were drawled, as though she was drugged or hardly cared about what she was saying.
‘What a bastard.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘That’s something I can’t get my head around,’ Patrick said. ‘I just don’t understand why…’ His words dissolved into the darkness as he became aware of Beth’s slow and rhythmic breathing. He silently stepped out of bed, leaned over, and pulled the bedcovers up and around her neck.
He got back onto his bed and for a few minutes considered fighting the urge to sleep, fearful of the images his slumber might bring. In his semi-conscious state, where the rational parts open to show glimpses of the absurd, he thought of the possibilities. The dreams he feared most were those of Rozita. Would it be better to have one last evening with her? If so he could warn her, even keep her awake so she didn’t sleep and this senseless episode wouldn’t happen. Then again, he’d never had any control over Patrick the physician, so why would this time be any different? If he dreamed of her, knowing he was about to kill her – kill the woman he now loved – wouldn’t he simply be torturing himself?
The confused half-thoughts faded away as Patrick eventually gave in to sleep. And when he did dream the images were the comforting ones: flames deliciously licking the ceiling, leaving their dark trail on the paintwork; frantic shouts for help that he knew were futile; locked doors rattling like a fast ride on an old train; even the occasional scream, a record of hopelessness that lodged in the ears.
As always, Patrick found these dreams as homely as a warm country cottage in the depths of winter, and the sleep he had was deep and soothing.