Believed Dead

Jocelyn Adkins waved to Hollie, weaving through to their favourite table nestled in a corner framed by picture windows, viewing onto the busy thoroughfare. Two sweating goblets of chardonnay waited on their tabletop. 

“Hollie, what’s the occasion?”  

Hollie’s eyebrows arched upward, her blue eyes wide. Jocelyn looked down, fidgeting with the zipper on her handbag. Hollie’s hand caressed the top of Joselyn’s hand. A lone tear traced Jocelyn’s cheek. With a sniff, a swipe of tissue, Jocelyn’s face upturned focusing on her dearest friend and confidante. 

“A toast, one year ago today, one evil bastard stopped breathing. Good riddance Uncle Shithead!”

“One less pedophile in the world today!”

Jocelyn stretched her shoulders up and back, breathing with intent. 

“Shall we?” Jocelyn handed a menu to Hollie then opening the cover, peered at the print. 

Joyousness sheltered Hollie and Jocelyn chatting, chewing, swallowing, savouring, sipping; their laughter wafting from this corner nook. 

“My treat, this month.” Jocelyn's fingers tapped on the bill. “You have given me back myself, helped me close, lock, stick that dreaded memory box back on its shelf.” 

“My dear girl, we’re here for each other. What’s the time? I’m on pick up from childcare this afternoon — Cameron has a late shift.”

“Hollie, how are the kidlets? I really need to drop by to see my Godchildren.”

“Well, as busy as can be. Meagan is fascinated by bugs while Elijah simply wants to play in the sand, eat the sand, roll in the sand. The house is filled with sand and bugs like a terrarium.”

Walking with linked arms, Jocelyn and Hollie stepped into the sun, eyes squinting in the glare until, stopping, they slipped on sunglasses. 

“I’m heading for the subway, what about you? Can we walk together for a spell?”

“Hollie, I’m a free agent so yes, lead on.”

Turning right, about to merge into the seething sidewalk, when Jocelyn’s arm swept across Hollie. 

“Jocelyn, what gives?”

Jocelyn stood still as a statue, staring straight at a man whom she had thought was dead, but there he was, right in front of her, smiling at her. 

“It’s him,” the words whispered. 

“Who” HIM?”

Jocelyn’s head bopped up and down, her eyes glaring in his direction. “The fucking devil lives.” 

“Uncle Shithead! Where?”

Jocelyn’s finger pointed ahead. “I need to get away from here now!” Sweat shaded her forehead, pooling in her palms, rolling down between her breasts, each breath shallower. 

Hollie gripped Jocelyn’s elbow, turned, then step-by-step separated them from Uncle Shithead, until, sinking onto a secluded bench, they sat in silence. Hollie fiddled for her iPhone, tapping a text message to Cameron.

Darling

Jocelyn and I are safe but Jocelyn needs me. Will you get someone else to pick up the kids? I’ll explain later. Lots of love. H.

Flagging down a cab, Hollie shoved Jocelyn onto the seat.

“515 Steam Boulevard please.” Hollie rubbed Jocelyn’s back, “We’re on our way home. You’re safe. I’m staying with you. Cameron’s looking after the children.” 

Jocelyn’s eyes danced below her lids, her head lolling back, a harshness to her breath. 

“Jocelyn, we’re here. Come along now.”

Like a zombie, Jocelyn followed Hollie from the cab, across the sidewalk, through the double glass doors, into the elevator, sweeping up to Jocelyn’s floor. Fetching the key from Jocelyn’s purse, Hollie unlocked the door to suite 2108, ushering Jocelyn into her foyer, slipping off their respective pink ballet flats, then manoeuvring Jocelyn to her bed.

“Rest now.” Hollie planted a kiss on Jocelyn’s shiny forehead, tip-toed, closing the door. before slipping onto a sofa drawing her feet under her bottom.  

The starlight glistened in the apartment when Jocelyn awoke, sitting up, eyes wide, then relaxing onto her pillows. Siding from her bed, Jocelyn padded into her living room, smiling seeing Hollie asleep. With soft stealthy steps, Jocelyn crossed the room, entering the soft grey galley kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator and pulling out a white wine bottle. With two glasses in hand, Jocelyn returned to the living room, placing the glasses and bottle on the carved coffee table. Bending over, Jocelyn shook Hollie’s shoulder until those emerald green eyes opened.

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

Seated side-by-side, holding a full goblet, they stared at the stars, in silent partnership.

“What’re you going to do, Jocelyn?’

“Stay forever in my condo. I can order in groceries, wine, work from home, invite friends in, use the exercise room downstairs.”

“And in the long run?”

“You know he sought me our — just like he used to — lecherous prick — those groping hands — pervert.”

“He definitely wanted your attention.”

“Such a narcissist!”

“What’re you going to do? In the short run, sure, hang out here, hide, heal but don’t let that ass beat you. You’re stronger than that.”

“I don’t even know where he lives? After all, isn’t he dead?!”

“From the look of his clothes, he’s not homeless, so he must be working, under the table, off the grid.”

“He should be dead — really and truly dead. Can you kill a dead person? Is that even a crime?”

“How could it be if someone is already dead.”

“Mmm. So if you were to kill someone who was already dead, I wonder how you’d do it.”

“Hire an assassin. Use yourself as bait and then kill him, or leave him to die, again.” Hollie’s laugh was harried and hollow. 

“Hmmm.”

“I have to head off to see my husband and kids. I’ll give you a call. Take good care of yourself.”

Alone with her thoughts, Jocelyn’s mind envisioned drugging him, sticking him in her trunk, transporting him way up north, tying him to a tree, doused with honey, letting nature takes its course. 

Her eyelids weighted with sleep, she slept until the shimmering, sparkling sunshine awoke her. Stretching like a cat, Jocelyn uncoiled from the couch, heading to shower, dress, breakfast before dealing with him. 

Adorned in black, head to toe, only her corn-coloured hair as an accent, Jocelyn returned to the bistro, seating herself in the same spot, skimming her novel, sipping cappuccino, biting brioche. Like a slug, he slid onto the seat, starring at Jocelyn.

“Would you like a coffee, cappuccino, latte, espresso?”

“Americano, nothing frilly, frothy, faggy.”

“Hadn’t you best wash your hands, they’re looking the worse for wear. I’ll order your drink.”

Standing up, he sauntered toward the back, slipping from view. 

When his cup arrived, Jocelyn poured the contents of the ten sleeping capsules into the liquid, capsules leftover from her old prescription.