Paul Cleave - The Killing Hour

“I’ve had all night to think about it, Charlie,” she says, “and I’ve decided to help you because I really think you could do with it. Maybe I feel like I owe you something, and maybe I’m remembering the way you used to be, or maybe I’m just as crazy as you are right now. So let’s make a deal. I agree to let you show me what you need to today to convince me to stay with you, and at the end of the day it becomes my decision whether I stay or go.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it, Charlie. I promise I won’t try and get away,” she says, and the thing about Jo is she’s never broken a promise. The other thing about Jo is she’s never been abducted before. “Just don’t tie me up anymore, okay? We’ll go out, get some breakfast, and then I’ll help you. But only for today. At the end you have to let me go. I think you owe me that. In fact I think you owe me that at the very least. I give you my full cooperation but you give me yours when the day’s over. And if I decide to go to the police at that point it’s my decision, not yours. Is it a deal?”

I wish I could believe she isn’t lying, because life would be a lot easier if she was with me rather than against me. “I don’t know,” I say, and the funny thing is I really don’t. That’s what wanting to believe will do to you.

“What’s your plan? To keep running? Or are you going to try and find the man that did these horrible things?”

“I’m not sure,” I tell her, only I am sure. I’m going to find Cyris.

“Charlie, you’ve been nothing but a bastard since you came around last night, but I know that’s not you, I know that’s not the real you, and I know that sooner or later you’ll have no choice but to let me go. That means you have to start trusting me, right? For God’s sake, Charlie, you might as well start now. What do you think I’m going to do? Write a note on the bill for the waitress to send help?”

It’s exactly the kind of thing I thought she would do. Or she wouldn’t even have to go to that effort-all she’d need to do is stand up and announce to the people there that she had been kidnapped. I want to trust her. Our lives were entwined-we were lovers, best friends, and I’ve kept the knot in place by kidnapping her. Only the last twelve hours I’ve taken all of those years we’ve known each other and poisoned them with paranoia and fear.

“Look, I’ll bring you back some breakfast, okay? I promise. Then we’ll talk.”

I can’t take her with me because if the police showed up at her house last night then her picture may already be circulating in the news. I can’t take her with me because if I was in her situation I’d be doing what I could to escape. She doesn’t resist as I tie her to the bed. I turn on the TV. It hums for a few seconds-the picture comes and goes and then settles. There’s an old black-and-white movie on. It’s about vampires. They’re being chased by bad acting and poor directing. I recognize none of the actors, but all of the lines. I leave the TV on for Jo and hang up the Do Not Disturb sign on my way out.

It’s eight thirty and the streets are clogged with work traffic. I think about the phone messages on my machine at home, messages which will be added to today unless I call in sick. I decide that’s what I’m going to do because if everything goes well, if I find Cyris and get him to the police, then maybe I can still have a normal life for which I’d need to keep my job. The morning is warm, we’re probably about halfway to what the weatherman guessed we’d get to. I walk to a nearby café. It’s one of those small mom-and-pop places where Mom has put on too much weight and Pop never quite cooks the chicken properly. Most of the business likely comes from the nearby factories. It seats around twenty people inside and another seven or eight out. The smell of coffee and bacon makes the warm atmosphere inside even more appealing. I wish I could stay all morning. The rooms are painted orange and red and there’s enough hardwood from the floors to the furniture to the edging around the ceiling and walls to make an ark. I’m served by a short waitress in her late forties with a haircut that should be in a museum. She smiles as she takes down my order. A name tag on her uniform says her name is Dot, but sometimes name tags lie. She brings me coffee that’s on par with the cup I had at the motel. I realize I’m nervous as hell. Does anybody here know who I am? I order bacon and eggs, then I ask if I can borrow the phone, and then I call the school. I start out by apologizing for not having shown up yesterday, but I tell them I’m sick. I tell them I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it’s bad, and that today I’m going to a doctor. The secretary tells me to get well soon, and doesn’t complain about yesterday. I return to my table and a minute later the food comes out. The bacon is slightly overcooked just the way I like it. The eggs too. I must look like a competitive food eater as I shovel them into my mouth. I buy some food to go and pick up a newspaper on the way back.

The first thing I do is untie Jo. While she eats we study the front page. The police have released more details. They mention that Luciana was found by a work colleague, Kathy by a neighbor. Both husbands have been questioned and released. Luciana’s husband was in Auckland with his new partner at the time. The article mentions the pair’s separation, says the husband is gay. Kathy’s husband, Frank, also has a solid alibi.

The van outside Luciana’s house was found with the key snapped in the ignition. Luciana’s car, a dark blue Ford, hasn’t been found. I read the article twice more, then I go deeper into the paper where a related article has been written by a different journalist. I read this, but don’t learn anything. I go back to the front page and read the headlines again. Something in them doesn’t quite gel, but I can’t put my finger on it. Whatever it is, it starts gnawing at the back of my brain. I close my eyes and try to focus on it, but that only makes it worse. I look through the paper searching for any mention of Jo, but there’s nothing. Then I even read my horoscope. It says forces in my life are conspiring to change my future, but isn’t any more specific. The nagging feeling that I’m missing something doesn’t disappear.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jo says, “that if this Cyris guy is after you he’s going to come for you at night, right? He does his thing at night, and he wouldn’t risk anything during the day.”

She’s sitting on her bed and I’m sitting in the kitchenette and we’re both staring at the parking lot and watching the rain. I think about what she has to say. I want to find Cyris, and she’s suggesting the best way to find him is by letting him find me.

“I guess that makes sense. But how is he going to find me?”

“Did he see your car?”

“Yeah. No doubt about it.”

“First thing we need to do is call in sick.”

“I already have.”

“I need to as well.”

“I’ll call for you.”

She doesn’t look happy with the idea, but doesn’t try to convince me otherwise. “It makes sense that if he’s going to look for you, Charlie, he’s going to start at your house. He saw your car. Maybe he took down the license plate. Or maybe he forced one of the women to tell him who you were.”

I start nodding. It makes sense. “We need to stake it out.”

Staking out my own house. Considering everything else that has happened this week this new development doesn’t seem strange to me. “I guess it’s a logical progression.”

“Oh, it definitely is, for him and for us. And that has to be our plan. That, and figuring out a way to catch him when he does show up.”

“How are we going to do that?”