Out of the Shadow (4 page)

Once inside, the darkness closed in on her like a thick wool cloak. She searched for the overhead light switch, flicking it on to illuminate the living room and banish the threatening images that had managed, in mere seconds, to spring into her mind. She double-checked behind doors and curtains, reassuring herself nothing menacing was skulking about. Finally convinced, Becca stepped into the kitchen and brewed herself a cup of soothing chamomile tea, which she carried back into the living room. Without Cecil—who had remained at Angela’s because of Julie’s allergy to cats—the apartment seemed uncompromisingly empty. She’d pick him up on her day off.
 To fill the void, she flicked on the television, channel-surfing her favorite shows, and settled on Lost. A feeling Becca knew all too well.

She had trouble paying attention, even with the crescendo of background music and the dramatic events unfolding on the screen in front of her. Frustrated, she flicked off the TV, but while the sound had done little to aid her comfort, the ensuing silence scared the hell out of her. She sat sipping her tea, hoping the herb would soon soothe her shattered nerves, but even her usual panacea did nothing to calm her. At wits' end, she scribbled a note for Evan to come by when he returned, and left the apartment to tape it to his door.

Home again, she ran a tub while heating water for another cup of tea. Perhaps adding a bath to her routine would improve the results. In the tub, she leaned her head back and pictured Evan. He had been so giving and supportive the last couple of nights, his absence had created an aching longing. His interesting anecdotes and slightly off-beat sense of humor had kept her occupied enough so she rarely thought about her troubles, and made him indispensable to her. They had played cards, watched The Daily Show, eaten together, and talked and talked and talked. She'd no idea a man could be so open and revealing, nor how much she would enjoy the repartee. His absence left a palpable hole in her soul. Was she becoming too attached to him?

She leaned her head back and allowed the steam to rise up and surround her in a warm fog of silence and safety. Suddenly a loud sound in the outer hallway disrupted the silence. She jumped up, wrapped herself in a towel, and dribbled her way to the door. Through the peephole, she spied one of her neighbors climbing the bottom flight of stairs. She drooped back against the door, relieved.

After towel-drying herself, she climbed into bed in her sweats, in case Evan came by, and tried to sleep, but a disturbing feeling of being watched prevented her from dozing off. She rose to make certain all the shades were drawn and the front door locked. While she hated to be so fragile, nothing she did seemed to vanquish her sense of vulnerability. She placed a chair at an angle against the door for further protection, but it only helped a little.

Back in bed, her exhaustion must have been greater than her fright, because she awoke with a start from a terrorizing dream at 2:15 in the morning. In the nightmare, a faceless man attempted to crawl through the bedroom window of her parents' home. Why her parents’ house? Why did these anxiety dreams always take her there?

Immediately she rolled over toward David’s side of the bed, only to be reminded he was no longer there. As much as she still felt the sting of David’s refusal to have children, and his sometimes stated, often implied, criticism of her, she couldn’t help missing him on nights like this. They did have fun together at the beginning, and she could look back fondly on their movie dates and picnics in the park. While often irritated by the pressure of building his legal practice, and intolerance of her those last couple of years, he had offered her an out from living under Julie’s constant vigil, and for that she would be forever grateful. But how often would she have to turn to him before accepting the fact he was gone for good? 

She flicked on the light, wishing Evan were nearby, but aware he would never come by this late. She undressed and tried to go back to sleep, surprised by the extent of her disappointment at his absence. He owed her nothing and had been more than generous with her, but she couldn’t deny her feelings. Why hadn’t he bothered to check in? Had he begun to tire of her neediness?

And where could he be at this late hour?

The next morning, Becca had to drag herself from her bed. After waiting up for Evan, she could barely keep her eyes open. While waiting on the platform for the El, she swayed from one foot to the other, trying to keep herself alert, hoping for once it would be on time. All she could think about was Evan’s failure to appear the night before. She barely noticed people crowding in around her.

She heard the screech of the train as it rounded the bend and barreled toward the station, glancing up the track to watch as it arrived. All at once a sharp object pressed against her back and a surge of adrenaline pulsed through her. She sprang forward to the edge of the platform, almost overshooting the cement and landing on the track. When she turned her head to see who had poked her, she immediately noticed the back of a man frantically weaving his way through the crowd to board the train. Unfortunately, all she could see of him before he exited the platform was his black trench coat and a hat covering his hair, but he did look tall and burly. While she could have been overreacting, she couldn’t deny a feeling the trench coat covered her rapist. Her heartbeat surged, far outpacing the mechanical rhythm of the oncoming train.

A hand grabbed her arm at the same moment the train pulled up alongside her. "You’re awful close to the train," a man’s voice rumbled in her ear. "You could have hurt yourself."

Still shaken, she turned, half expecting to see her tormentor, only to stare into the kind eyes of an elderly Asian man. "Thank you. I’ll be fine."

"Be careful there," he said, and left her to board the train.

But she stood glued to the spot, and missed her train. It took many minutes before she recovered enough to make her way back to the now-empty bench. With a shake of her head, she considered her predicament. If it had been her stalker, how much danger was she actually in? If it hadn’t been him, how sensitive was she to the slightest provocation? How traumatized was she still, and how much longer would it take for the emotional scars to heal...if they ever did.

Angela placed her tray on their customary lunch table and took the seat across from Becca. The pink tinge on Angela’s cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, gave away her elation before she even uttered a word. Her excitement might have been contagious, if Becca wasn’t worried about Evan. He hadn’t called once the day before and, when she stopped by his condo on the way to work, he wasn’t there. She hoped nothing was wrong.

"What’s new with you?" Angela asked with a mischievous grin, looking more eager to talk about herself than listen to anything Becca had to say. Under the circumstances, that was a relief. 

Angela had one of the most expressive faces Becca had ever seen. While it absolutely radiated love at the moment, it could just as quickly transform into unbearable dejection with the swiftness of one of her elderly patients' deteriorating conditions. Becca had seen it happen in too many instances, and prayed it would be different for Angela this time around.

"I slept alone in my apartment for the last two nights and let me tell you, that was a major medical breakthrough."

Angela arched a brow. "I didn’t sleep alone last night and that was a breakthrough, too. Believe me."

No surprise to her. "Don’t tell me the independent ‘I don’t need a man’ Angela P has met her match! This sounds serious. It might require surgery."

"If it does, I’m with the best operator in town."

"Tell me more." Becca scooped out a spoonful of strawberry yogurt from its container and listened while Angela gave her the run-down on Dr. Elliot, enumerating his many good qualities. The list went on and on and included such diverse things as his thriving medical practice and his love of gardening.

Becca was tickled by Angela’s good fortune, but couldn’t deny a tiny twinge of regret. She had never felt the type of love Angela described, and had settled for David as a way to pacify her mother and to escape from the suffocating nest. If she had tried to move out on her own without a husband, Julie would have put up a protracted battle. She hadn’t been up to the fight.

Of course, she could have done far worse than David. To get away from troubled families, a couple of girls in her class had married too young, made questionable choices. But Becca had skipped past the blush of first love, and continued to yearn for it.

"… and he asked me about you."

That grabbed Becca’s attention. "Why me?"

"Aren’t we a little bit paranoid?" Angela giggled. "I told him about you and he wanted to know more. You’re my closest friend, aren’t you?"

Becca took another mouthful. What was she thinking? Naturally, Angela’s new beau would be interested in every facet of her life—how silly of her to be suspicious. "It sounds like you hit the jackpot with this roll. You’re one lucky winner."

"Bingo. The lottery has finally paid off big. It’s about time, after all those years of lousy first-and-only dates." Angela paused and stared at her. "Jesus, Becca, what planet am I on? I’m so euphoric right now, I forgot how you must be feeling. You’re the last person who needs to hear me raving about Elliot."

Was she that obvious? She forced a smile. "Don’t be silly. You said I’m your closest confidante. I expect a bent ear."

Angela lowered her gaze. "I’m being totally insensitive. I’m sorry, Becca."

Becca wagged her index finger. "Stop right now. I’m not the walking wounded. It’s been over two months since David’s death and I’m healing. I don’t want you to pussy foot around me." Should she say more? "Besides, my sexy neighbor has been helping me out."

Angela cocked a knowing brow and opened her mouth to say something, but Becca stopped her with a raised hand.

"Don’t go there. It’s not what you think—at least not yet. I’m not ready for anything as hot and heavy as you’re describing, but it’s been lovely having him around."

Angela’s face lit up. "I’d love to meet him. I have an idea. Why don’t you and..."

"Evan."

"Yeah. Why don’t you two join Elliot and me on a double date one of these nights?"

"Because we aren’t dating." Becca could tell by the look Angela sent her she wasn’t buying the answer. "Maybe we can meet for a drink one evening after work. I’ll run it by Evan."
If I ever see him again.

"I know it’s been hard losing David, but it’s time you came out of hiding. Who knows, a male friend might be the ticket right now."

Was that true? Maybe so, maybe not. A man hadn’t been the answer to her problems in the past, but this was different. She’d have to wait and see how it played out.

The first sound Becca heard after letting herself into the apartment after work, was the beep of the answering machine signal. After greeting the recently retrieved Cecil with pets and pats, she approached the machine, eager to hear if Evan had called back. She crossed her fingers and tapped the button, but instead of Evan’s seductive baritone, Julie’s voice filled the room.

"Hello, darlin’. I know you told me not to call you every day, but I couldn’t resist. I won’t talk long. I just want to know how you’re doing. You know I worry about you. Call me this evening." Click.

She waited for the second message, filled with anticipation, but all she heard was a long, disquieting silence. It wasn’t the first time since the rape she’d received one of these calls. Shaken, she immediately erased it and had to take a minute to quiet the pounding pulse in her head before she could listen to the third message.

"This is Detective Sally Mills of the Philadelphia Police Department. Something has come up and we need to speak with you. Call me at 555-0199 when you get this message."

Becca stared at the machine, wondering what Mills could possibly want with her this time. Four months had passed since the rape and the police had made very little progress; she continued to be the only one on their radar screen. Frustrated, she had to take a deep breath before she could lift the receiver, dial the police department, and ask for Detective Mills.

Mills answered with a cursory greeting.

"I’m returning your call. You mentioned you had something new to talk to me about."

She heard the ruffling of paper before Mills said, "One of our units was out looking through the landfill on another homicide, and they came across a butcher knife wrapped in a kitchen towel. We have reason to believe it’s your missing knife. We’d like you to come down and identify it."

This might be a chance at redemption. She pulled the receiver closer to her ear. "Did you find anything on the knife?"

"We’ve sent it to a lab to see if there’s anything we can lift off of it."

"I’ll be right down."
 

For a full minute after hanging up the phone, she stood frowning down at it. Would this discovery clear her or convict her? If the killer was careful, her fingerprints might have been the last ones on the knife. She might have even nicked herself when chopping the salad, as she often did, and her blood could show up on the towel. Suddenly shaken, she lowered herself into a dining room chair and massaged her temple with a trembling hand.

No use putting her visit off any longer than necessary. Postponing it wouldn’t affect the outcome in her favor. With resolve, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door.