Dear Danielle, my lovie Diary,

Dear Danielle my lovie Diary,

Danielle! Has someone been reading your pages, putting their dirty fingers on my words? It seemed like you were out of place, perhaps by only an inch or so, but nonetheless, not where I left you last night. I don’t think so anyway. Am I being paranoid?

Well, here’s the question: is there really anything in here that I would mind if anyone read? Hell to the yeah! Like, everything! I hate using exclamation points but sometimes they are required.

I’ve been feeling off, since the incident. The incident.  Not sure what else to call it. Sharon is in Boston, and this isn’t something I can discuss with her over the phone. I’ve taken three showers and cleaned my car twice, and still don’t feel clean. I need to process this, and since I can’t tell my therapist, you are it, Danielle. The keeper of all secrets.

So here’s what happened:

Cameron ran after me when I was leaving work today. You know how she is, following like a shadow you can’t shake. I was in a mood, and her clingy manner wasn’t helping. She was going on and on about this new club, Bonfire, live band, patio with fire pits, lots of fun, begging me to go. I definitely needed a drink, and I could put up with Cameron for one drink, so I thought, why the hell not? If I don’t like it after a drink, I can go home. You would have thought I had given the child a million dollars when I said yes – so easily pleased. She is really a sweet girl, just a little over the top, bouncy, young.

I followed Cameron in my car, not about to get stuck without my own way home. The club was on the edge of town, down by the docks. It was supposed to be the latest hotspot for all those who wanted to be seen. Of course, it was still early, having finished work around eight. Cameron was a copywriter, and I had just turned in my feature for tomorrow’s issue, an article highlighting the new branch CO of Barnes & Co, the largest shipping company in the south. The article was a fluff piece, wasn’t designed to dig into the issues the worker’s union had with the company. The editor had told me to make the man look good, make us look good. I hated pieces like that, unable to point out what was really going on, and why this self-absorbed guy was making seven figures. No, it wasn’t the time to do that. Barnes & Co had just bought three full-page ads to run for the next week. So they bought us too. No doubt that’s why I was irritable and desperately needed a drink.

I parked, walked up the hill to the bar. Cameron was waiting on me at the door, grabbed my sleeve practically pulling me through the door.

“Slow down a bit,” I said as she led me through the crowd, making our way to the bar. The place was fairly crowded, must catch a lot of the happy hour crowd, hold onto them, feeding them drinks to continue the flow until the band started when drinks returned to regular price and folks were too drunk to care. No different than any other bar I suppose.

We squeezed in at the end of the bar. “What do you want?” Cameron screamed above the roar of the crowd. “I’m buying first round.”

“Bourbon – high end – neat,” I answered. “Make it a double.” My mouth began to water just thinking of it.

I turned to look around the room. Neat décor, what I could see with so many people crowded into the somewhat small space. But on the far end there were two sets of French doors, leading to the patio which was bigger than the inside. I could see three fire pits spaced around the area, with close seating, tables in the back and a large dance floor in front of the stage area. The band was already setting up, soon to begin it appeared.

Cameron handed me the drink, and I suggested we go outside. I wasn’t too keen on crowds anymore; I needed a bit of breathing space. We worked our way through the crowd and found a small table to the side of the dance floor, underneath a tree strung with white lights. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, I had to admit. I sat and sipped on my bourbon, beginning to release the tension from my neck and shoulders.

***

I know, Danielle, I tend to write here like I write my stories, including details not pertinent to the bottom line. It’s just what I do. I’m a writer, and I’m not writing for an audience here, just trying to make sense of what happened. If I don’t take it step by step, I won’t be able to know how it went seriously wrong.

***

We chatted about work, talked about the crowd here, what Cameron hoped to do at the paper. I didn’t know much about her personal life, never really socialized with her except when a bunch of us would go out for beers after a long night. It might have been the bourbon, but I realized I was actually enjoying her company.

The was short lived though. We were talking about my reading some of the stuff she had written, offered to read and perhaps suggest some edits, and there he was, slamming both hands down on the table, shaking the drink glasses, and shaking us up. The CO himself – Clifton Owens III – the guy I had written the article about.

“Ladies! Looky here. So glad to see you. Let me and my buddy buy you both a drink.” He pointed to a guy who looked a bit embarrassed, standing behind Mr. Owens, arms out as if ready to steady him if he stumbled. Owens was slurring his words, a bit of spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth, wobbly. He was a big guy, over six feet, and reminded me more of a bouncer or football player than the head of a big company.

Holy shit, I thought. How are we going to handle this?

“Hello Mr. Owens. We were actually about to leave.” I looked at Cameron, motioned to her and started to stand. He put that big mitt of a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back into my chair.

“No, no, no, stay for one more drink! The band is about the start. What are you ladies drinking? Jim, get these ladies a drink, and another double for me.”

Jim sheepish looked at me, and I said, “Bourbon, neat.” Cameron said, “White wine.”

While Jim walked off towards the bar, Owens grabbed two chairs from another table, not asking the couple at that table if they minded. It was obvious Owens was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to do. He dragged one of the chairs close to me and practically fell into it. When he did, he caught himself by putting one hand on my leg. He settled into the chair and left his hand where it was.

This went sideways quickly. I looked over at Cameron, she eyed the hand on my leg, her eyes getting big as if screaming ‘what now’?

I couldn’t piss the guy off. My boss would kill me if we lost his advertising because of me, but I wasn’t about to sit here and let him maul me all night.

“Okay lover boy,” I began jokingly, picking Owens’ hand up by the sleeve, “Hands to yourself.”

Thankfully, he laughed, cackled loudly, drawing the attention of those around us. Jim arrived with our drinks gratefully, drawing attention away from the little scene. He sat down respectfully across the table, leaving reasonable space that he could from Cameron. The crowd on the patio was growing, tables filling up quickly.

I leaned over and whispered to Cameron, “We will finish this drink, get these two on the dance floor and dance right out of here.” I wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

As if on cue, the band began to play an old Fleetwood Mac song, which would have been wonderful if we hadn’t been in this situation.

I took a sip of my drink and turned to Owens, pushing on his shoulder. “Come on, big boy. Let’s dance.” I stood and pushed him towards the dance floor, looking back at Cameron and Jim and pointing to join us.

I don’t think Jim had even opened his mouth to say a word, but I managed to dance towards his and tell him what we had in mind. He nodded with understanding.

Owens danced like he was stomping grapes, and the whole song I was dancing all around him, hoping there was no one in the bar that I knew. As the song ended and everyone was clapping, I got behind Owens, pushing him towards the table. I grabbed Cameron’s hand and we practically ran out of the place. I kept looking over my shoulder but thankfully didn’t see Owens. We didn’t stop until we got to Cameron’s car which was parked closer to the bar entrance than mine.

Cameron was visibly shaken, leaning on her car door. “You okay,” I asked.

“Yeah, I think so. What the hell?”

“Are you okay to drive? I can call you an Uber or drop you at home if you don’t want to be on your own.” Cameron was at least fifteen years younger than me, and obviously had not been around an inebriated male in a situation like that.

“No, I’m okay. Just ready to get out of here.” I waited until she had started her car, waved as I walked away, back down the hill to where I was parked.

When I got to my car I pressed the fob, the lights blinked and I opened the door.

***

Okay Diary Danielle. This is the part you can’t tell anyone. I’ll die in jail if you do. I think I’ll find a new hiding place for you after this. I’m taking a risk writing it down, but I must tell someone. You are the safest one.

***

As I opened my door, I felt someone behind me, started to turn but big bear paws grabbed me around the waist. I bent over the driver’s seat, trying to get free, hard to even breath he held on so tight.

“Where you going sweat pea? We’re just starting to have fun.” He was bent over me, breathing on my neck, smelling of sweat and alcohol. I almost vomited. Maybe if I had he would have let me go.

I could not wiggle free of his grasp. He let go with one hand, but I still couldn’t get loose. I heard him unzip his pants.

No. This was not going to happen. I got one are free and managed to open the console. My hand worked around receipts and cords and, there it was – my buck knife.

I pulled it out and at the same time threw my head back, hitting him in the chin, startling him off balance a bit. I managed to open the knife, sliced the hand that was around my waist and managed to get free when he let loose, screaming in pain. He held the wounded arm to his chest, lifting his other arm ready to strike me, and I didn’t give him the chance. I stuck the buck knife in his neck.

He stumbled back, grabbed his neck, pulling the knife out, and blood started spraying everywhere. We were on an incline and he began to lose his balance as he continued stepping backwards away from me. He dropped the knife, staring at me in disbelief. He was holding his hand against the wound, but it was of little use. Blood was all over him, but thankfully not on me. As he fell to the ground, I picked up the knife and quickly got in my car. I didn’t see him take his last breath.

I cranked the car and got out of there, trying to drive normally, not too fast. I had no idea if anyone saw the altercation, but I wasn’t sticking around. All I could think was to get the hell out of there. I got to Riverside Drive and took a right, throwing the knife into the Mississippi as I drove.

***

Diary Danielle, I know it was self-defense, but leaving the scene was not smart. After writing this here, I know now I should turn myself in before they come after me. I’m sure there were videocams in the area, and I’m sure it was only a matter of time before the police showed up on my doorstep. Sharon gets home in two days. I want to wait until then – I need her with me.

I’m not going to work tomorrow – I’ll call and make some excuse. But I would bet money I get a call from Cameron the minute this hits the news. This is a mess. Not of my own making for a change.

Keep my secret until then?

***

#ReedsySecrets  #LynneBoyd