Short of actually placing us both in protective custody, which for all intents and purposes meant under arrest, there was little Ben could do other than give in. He did, however, make his own proclamation, that being very simply-if we weren’t coming to stay with him, then he was staying with us. Fortunately, my wife didn’t seem to have a problem with that compromise.
“Listen, Kemosabe, don’t take this the wrong way,” Ben started carefully after a lengthy silence. “But, I think your wife has gone right over the fuckin’ edge.”
Finally, he was dropping the bomb I had been expecting all evening.
“I’m hoping it’s just an after effect of the shock,” I replied.
“So, it ain’t just me? You think she’s actin’ flaky too?”
“I don’t know if flaky is the word I’d use, but she’s definitely not acting like herself. And, yeah, I’m a little concerned. Not as much as you though, apparently.”
“Jeezus, Row, she went and got all ‘er damn hair cut off and dyed black. Then she decided on ‘er own that you two are stayin’ here, and wouldn’t even listen… Sheesh… If that ain’t flaky I don’t know what is.”
I waited a moment, struggling with the memory of my earlier conversation with her out on the deck. I’d kept it to myself, but now it was hard not to mention it.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” I began, hesitation in my voice. “But, earlier today… Before you and I left for the crime scene… She was having a bit of an emotional crisis.”
“Yeah, no shit,” he replied. “That’s kinda obvious.”
I continued. “She told me she couldn’t feel sorry for Lewis. In fact, she said he deserved it.”
My friend turned to look at me with a deep frown creasing his face. “And you’re just now mentionin’ this?”
“It may be a symptom of post-traumatic stress,” I offered. “She’s been through way too much the past couple of months. Put that together with the shock…” I shrugged. “It concerns me, but I’m not sure if it’s something to get worked up over or not.”
“Your wife told you that Lewis deserved to die?” he posed the question like a statement. “Row, that’s just not like ‘er.”
“I know,” I replied. “Believe me, I know. But, Helen told me after everything that’s happened, she would probably have some emotional issues for a while. A feeling of disconnection. Possible identity issues. She even said there was a good chance she might have some manic-depressive type of mood swings.” After a short pause I added, “She’s definitely seen some moments of depression since she’s been home. So I have to assume that’s what’s happening now.”
“Well, I guess now we’re gettin’ the flip side,” my friend huffed. “‘Cause I’d say manic is a pretty good description of the whole hair thing. Not ta’ mention the whole mood thing. Did ya’ see the way she just kept smilin’ when we were arguin’? She wasn’t about ta’ give in, but she never got mad about it.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“Well? Was that weird or what?”
I nodded. “A little. But she does tend to grin when she feels like she’s won an argument, and in her mind, she had that one conquered from the outset. So, all I really saw was my wife feeling like she had the upper hand. Maybe I’m just too close to her to see.”
“She told ya’ Lewis deserved to die,” he repeated in a half questioning tone.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “But, I don’t think she really believes that. That was the problem. She knew she was supposed to be upset. She just couldn’t make herself feel the remorse.”
“I’m tellin’ ya’, Row, that’s fucked up. She’s actin’ flaky.”
“Maybe so, but I also think we need to cut her some slack. Like I said, Helen expected some type of odd behavior from her when the effects of the stress bubbled to the surface. I doubt you could come up with a better trigger for it than the package today combined with the visit from Lewis yesterday.”
“Yeah, well speakin’ of Helen, what I think is that Firehair needs ta’ have a sit down with ‘er. Right away.”
“I don’t disagree with you there, but I can’t force her to do it.”
“I bet we can. I got handcuffs.”
“She’d just use them on you if she got the chance,” I told him with a half-hearted chuckle.
“Jeez, let’s not go there, ‘kay?”
“You brought it up.”
“Yeah, you’re right. My bad.”
“Seriously, though. She’ll talk to Helen when she’s ready.”
“Yeah, well let’s hope she’s ready before she shaves ‘er head or somethin’.”
“You know, Ben, I get the feeling you’re even more disturbed by her change of appearance than anything else.”
“It ain’t right. She looks like one of those goth chicks or somethin’,” he replied then tucked his cigar into his mouth and puffed. After a second unproductive draw, he pulled it out and inspected the end. “Damn. Went out. Lemme see your lighter.”
I dug the device out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Actually, with it dyed black, it’s more of a Bettie Page look.”
“Who’s Bettie Page?”
“She’s a pinup model from the fifties.”
“Pinup model, huh?”
“Yeah. Her claim to fame was cheesecake bondage and fetish photos.”
“Awww, Jeez…” He mumbled, casting me a sideways glance as he re-ignited his cigar. “I shoulda known.”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted, accepting the lighter back. “But, as shocking as the change is, I have to admit it still looks good on her.”
“Well, yeah,” he agreed. “Never said it looked bad. It just don’t look right ta’ me. I mean it’s Firehair. She’s s’posed ta’ have red hair.”
“I guess you’ll just have to call her something else for a while.”
“Yeah. I’m workin’ on that, but I got a feelin’ she ain’t gonna like Blackhead.”
“I think you’re probably right about that.”
I took a puff off my own cigar then rolled the smoke around on my tongue before blowing it out in a long stream on the cold air. The cloud of condensed breath quickly dissipated, leaving behind only the thin, blue-white haze lofting on a gentle breeze.
Looking out into the night, I stared at the neighborhood. It was relatively peaceful and pretty much always had been. Up until a few years ago, that is. But, everything that happened to shatter that quiet seemed to center around this house-and me. We’d never had any sort of close relationship with any of our neighbors, but these days they weren’t even interested in waving to us from across the street.
I sighed as thoughts of pulling up stakes and moving crossed my mind once again. Finally, I looked over at my friend and asked, “Do you really think Annalise is going to come here?”
“Dunno,” he grunted after a moment of thought. “But, she’s been here at least once already.”
“You don’t know that for a fact,” I countered.
“Gut feelin’,” he told me. “She was here.”
I didn’t refute what he said. I’d learned to trust his instincts just as much as he trusted mine. After a moment I mused aloud, “Why does this sort of thing always get so out of hand?”
My friend huffed out what passed for an apathetic chuckle then replied, “Just lucky, I guess.”
I was getting ready to tell him that his answer didn’t make me feel any better, but as I opened my mouth to speak, I heard a distant echo that sounded almost like my name being called. I left my comment unspoken and cocked my head to the side, listening intently.
A second later, I heard it again, louder. This time it wasn’t only my name but Ben’s too. And, the voice was recognizable, even through the panic in which it was encased. I looked up at my friend whose expression was a mirror image of my own. A heartbeat later we were both in motion. The only reason we didn’t collide was that I started for the door a split second sooner than he.
Felicity was already topping the basement stairs and coming into the hall as we entered through the front door. The look on her face instantly bolstered the rush of anxiety that was already tightening my chest.