John Lutz - The Ex

Molly and David stood motionless for a few moments.

Then the full impact of what Deirdre had said hit Molly in a violent rush.

She was across the room in three strides and grabbed the phone from David.

“It’s a bluff, Mol,” he said. “We dropped Michael off at Small Business not much more than an hour ago.”

But Molly was already punching out Small Business’s number on the key pad. “Damn her! I’ll kill her if she’s taken Michael!”

David gently but firmly worked the receiver from her clutching fingers. She glared at him.

“You’re in a rage, Mol. Let me talk. Let me see what Julia has to say.”

She knew he was right. If Julia had let Michael leave the school, she didn’t know what she might say or do.

She surrendered the phone to him then backed a step away and watched him hold the receiver to his ear and listen to the ringing phone at the other end of the connection.

Molly waited, fighting back her temper and fear for Michael. She could faintly hear the Small Business phone ringing, seeping from the receiver’s earpiece.

“Yes, please,” David said abruptly, tightening his grip on the phone. “I’d like to talk to Julia…” He stared inquisitively at Molly.

“Corera,” she said, assuming he couldn’t remember Julia’s last name.

“Corera, please. I need to talk to her. Yes, I know, but it’s very important.”

He stood waiting, not looking at Molly, for more than a minute.

Then he grew rigid and stood straighter as the receiver returned to life.

“Julia. This is David Jones. That’s right, Michael’s father. Remember, his mother and I dropped him off at the school a little over an hour ago? We need to know if he’s still there.”

Molly saw his expression darken and her heart almost stopped.

After several seconds, he said, “I don’t know. No, there is none. We don’t know. Yes, thanks, Julia…”

He slammed down the receiver.

“What did she say?” Molly asked.

“Julia said Aunt Deirdre came to the school half an hour ago with a note from you saying there was a family emergency. She said they knew Deirdre at the school. She’d been there several times before to see Michael. Trusted her because Michael knew her and seemed fond of her.”

“So they gave him to her,” Molly said with a quiet rage. “She’s got him! David, she’s got our son!”

He was obviously alarmed by her expression, by the emotion vibrant in her voice.

“Mol, listen!”

It made her even madder that he would try to calm her. “You listen, David! I’m going to kill her! You hear me? I’m going to fucking kill her!”

“Jesus, Mol! Wait!”

But she was already out the door and in the hall. Fueled by a hate and desire she knew would scare her if she paused to think about it.

No time or patience for the elevator. She was aware of David following her as she strode down the hall to the door to the landing, then tromped up the stairs and down the fourth-floor corridor to Deirdre’s apartment.

She began pounding on the door with her fist.

“Deirdre! Damn you! Open this door!”

She felt David grip her upper arms. He pulled her back so she couldn’t reach the door.

At first she was enraged, thinking he was trying to restrain her to calm her. Then she saw his flushed features, the tightness to his jaw, the look in his eyes she’d seen only a few times during the early, sometimes vicious and hurtful arguments of their marriage. She knew he’d had time to assimilate what had happened and shared her concern and anger.

When he was sure she wasn’t going to interfere, he took a step back and raised his right leg. Then he shot his foot out so the flat of it struck the door just below the knob.

The door gave but didn’t open.

Molly felt like standing next to him so they could kick together. She actually moved toward him.

But he kicked again, with a loud grunt and much more force, and the doorjamb splintered around the lock.

The door flew open and bounced off the wall so hard it would have closed again if David’s momentum hadn’t carried him forward so that he struck it a second time with his shoulder. It hit the wall again, but not as hard. Brass screws and metal pieces of the lock clattered over the wood floor.

Molly and David exchanged frightened but determined glances.

She followed him into Deirdre’s apartment.

The apartment was still disorganized from Deirdre’s move, as if it had occurred only a few days ago. Molly took the lead despite David urging her to stay behind him, and they stormed through the apartment, satisfying themselves that it was unoccupied. They found themselves again in the living room.

For the first time, Molly looked around carefully at the mismatched and apparently secondhand furniture, the stacks of cardboard boxes against a wall.

Then the desk near the window caught her eye, and it took her a moment to realize why.

It closely resembled her own desk. There were the half-dozen reference books supported between quartz bookends, the green-shaded banker’s lamp, the mug stuffed with pens and pencils.

Molly stepped closer to the desk and saw that the mug was exactly like hers, dark blue with a silver Statue of Liberty on it. Only the slight chip on the rim that marred her mug was missing on this one.

She began opening drawers.

“What are you doing, Mol?” she heard David ask behind her.

“Looking for some clue as to where Deirdre might have taken Michael.”

The top drawer held only a stapler, a bottle of Liquid Paper, and a few household bills and receipts. Stuffed toward the back were some maps. A road map of Missouri. A street map of New York. A subway guide.

The second drawer contained only a shoe box.

Molly lifted the box out with both hands, noting that it was slightly too heavy to be empty. She set it on the desk and opened it.

Inside were a jumble of newspaper clippings weighted down by a videocassette. She set the cassette aside, then began lifting out the clippings and placing them on the desk.

She looked at them where they lay overlapping each other:

WOMAN PLUNGES TO DEA/POLICE ARE LO/TWENTY-STORY FALL FROM ROOFTOP RESTAURAN/RISTINE MATHEWS.

There was also a newspaper photo of what appeared to be a body lying beneath a bloody sheet.

“Look at this, David,” Molly said.

But he was already standing behind her. He reached past her and rearranged the clippings.

They revealed the name of the woman who’d apparently plunged from the rooftop restaurant: Christine Mathews. It was her body beneath the bloody sheet.

“What do you think it means?” David asked.

“I’m not sure,” Molly said. A fear like ice was moving beneath her flesh. “But I don’t like it. I’m going to call the police.”

As she turned her back to reach for the phone, she didn’t see David pick up the videocassette and slide it beneath his shirt.

He quietly drifted into the hall leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. When he was far enough from the living room but could still hear Molly’s muted, indecipherable voice as she talked on the phone, David withdrew the cassette from under his shirt. He put on his glasses and held it up to the light.

The label was neatly printed in capital letters with blue ink: 2ND HNYMN.

He looked around desperately. He couldn’t let Molly find the cassette. And it couldn’t be in the apartment if the police decided to conduct a search.

For now, he was stuck with it.

He slipped it back beneath his shirt, feeling its sharply defined angles press against his bare side beneath his ribs. Then he returned to the living room.

Molly was hanging up the phone after her conversation with the police.