Identity Crisis(104)

It was a small place, much smaller than she could afford, but then she wasn’t all that concerned with material things. He had always liked that about her. She was more concerned with ordering other peoples’ lives and the challenge they presented in their disorder. The place was as Spartan and as distilled as her essence that hung in the air. He was sure, remembering who she was, how she was, that everything, every little thing had a purpose. She was not sentimental. She was not a collector of mementoes. When he knew her, she lived in the moments she created, lived as a creature other than herself. He had never known her as herself. When he knew her, she was a mystery like none he’d ever tackled before, a mystery worth studying, worth waiting for. And now he would know her more fully than he had ever dreamed possible.

He moved into her bedroom and was delighted to find that her bed was made, meticulously made. Of course she probably had someone do it for her. She could afford it. But then again, he couldn’t really imagine her letting a stranger touch her personal things, not even in something as mundane as making her bed. Carefully, almost reverently, he sat down on the edge of it, on the side she slept on, he could tell by the books, by the reading lamp, by the alarm clock. Then he took a deep, shuddering breath as though he was about to reverence the divine, as though he was about to step onto holy ground, onto a place that wasn’t quite safe to step. Welling with emotions he had held inside himself for over a year, he laid back on it, pressing his body gently into the place where she slept and dreamed. He didn’t put his feet up; that would have been wrong, like he was invading her privacy, like he was desecrating a sacred place. But the pillow! Oh, dear God in heaven, the pillow smelled so powerfully of her. It smelled of her sleep, it smelled of her dreams. And oh how he wondered what she dreamed. Did she ever dream of him? He’d tried so hard, when he knew her before, to make sure that she would remember him in her dreams. He wanted that more than anything else from her; that she would dream of him, that even when she slept she would never be rid of him. Oh yes, he wanted that! He buried his face in her pillow and inhaled as though he could take her very essence into himself, as though he could capture her spirit that way. But really, no hocus pocus would be necessary. He would need no magic. It would be easy. So very easy.

His hand strayed to his fly, which was now tight and uncomfortable. How could it not be when he was in her home, in her bed, surrounded by her essence, surrounded by her things? For a second he lay in a fetal position, very careful to keep his feet off the bed, and rocked against himself. The feel of her was almost more than he could endure. He cried out and stood quickly, breathing deeply, closing his eyes, focusing – focusing. Not yet. The time wasn’t right yet. He could control himself just a little bit longer. He could save himself for her.

When he was sure he wouldn’t disgrace himself, he made his way back to the desk in the tiny living room. Her laptop sat closed in standby mode, and he couldn’t resist a message to her, a single message for old time’s sake. It would be the sweetest gift. It would make her ready for their coming together as nothing else could.

He opened her email account, paying no attention to the messages that were there. They didn’t matter to him; nothing else mattered to him about her past. There was only now, this moment, and he would extend it to include her, and this would be the beginning. He began to type an email.

For a long moment Kendra, Garrett, and Don sat in front of the television as the news ended with a recap of the arrest of Tess Delaney’s stalker. At last, Garrett flicked the off switch on the remote and the silence came back into focus, hindered only by the soft drumming of the rain.

‘It’s over then,’ Kendra said at last.

Both men nodded. And for another long moment they sat in the rain-pocked silence as though the remote had somehow switched them all off as well, as though the whole world had gone into standby.

It was Kendra who broke the silence. ‘Good.’ She shoved to her feet and grabbed her BlackBerry from the coffee table. ‘Then I’m out of here.’ She headed toward the front door.

‘What the …? Kendra, where are you going?’ Garrett pushed off the sofa to follow her, ignoring Don. ‘Kendra, what are you doing?’

At the front door, she stuffed the device into her bag, which she hoisted onto her shoulder. Then she turned to him, and the look on her face was cold, distant. ‘I quit, Garrett.’ She nodded to the door. ‘I’m not speaking to the press. I don’t care what you tell them. That’s up to you. But I quit.’

He felt like the floor had fallen away from under his feet. He reached for her arm. ‘Kendra, no, you can’t, you can’t leave now. We’re not finished.’