Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

Jerry fell silent a moment as he took Ann’s hand in his. Then he said, “I’m here for you, Ann. I just want you to remember that. I don’t feel too good about all of this to be quite honest, and I don’t like the fact that you and Amy are living here all by yourselves. So please don’t hesitate for one moment to call me if anything suspicious occurs. I know I’m being a bit redundant, but I want to be able to leave here tonight assured that you’ll call me if you need me.”

Ann smiled warmly. “I will, Jerry. I promise.” She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and said, “I’m afraid we’re going to have to call it a night, though. I think I drank a little too much wine; I’m suddenly feeling very sleepy.”

Jerry stood up. “I could use a little shut-eye myself. I worked out at the gym this afternoon and it’s starting to catch up with me.”

He followed Ann to the living room and turned to face her at the front door, his eyes showing regret for having to leave her. He put his arms around her waist and said, “Take care, Ann. Do you mind if I call you tomorrow?”

“No, not at all,” she replied. “Thanks, Jerry… for everything. I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I.”

He balked for a moment, obviously deciding whether or not to kiss her. Ann stood for what seemed a very long time before he finally brought his lips to hers. The kiss was brief and tentative, much like her very first kiss when she was in junior high school.

“Good night, Ann. I’ll call you tomorrow. And remember…”

“I know, Jerry. You have my promise.”

Jerry Rankin turned and made his way to the BMW.

Ann waited until he had backed out of the driveway before closing the door. She heard him toot his horn as he pulled away and it dawned on Ann that she regretted his leaving a lot more than she cared to admit to herself.

Sam was two-thirds of the way to La-La Land when he awoke. He had no idea how long he’d been hearing the incessant pounding on the front door before it finally brought him to his senses, but he had a feeling it had been a very long time. It was one of those deals when you think you’ve been dreaming something was happening before you suddenly realized that it actually was happening.

Sam opened his eyes and saw the snowy test pattern on the television screen. The static was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the beating on the door. He sat up on the couch and gazed squint-eyed at the half dozen or so empty beer bottles on the coffee table in the foreground and let out a gasp of disgust when he saw the huge mound of cigarette butts in the ashtray. His head felt like lead as he forced himself up onto his feet, wondering who in the fuck would be banging on his door in the middle of the night.

He stumbled out of the room and headed toward the front door like a drunk being forced to run a marathon at gunpoint. The racket grew incessantly louder as he neared the door, as did the throbbing in his head. He flicked on the front porch light and pulled open the door.

When he saw who it was, Sam thought for sure he was still dreaming.

“Jesus, Sam! I didn’t think you’d ever get here!” she exclaimed.

There in front of him stood Shelley Hatcher: soaked to the bone and her normally thick and lustrous blonde hair clinging limp and lifeless to her blanched but beautiful face.

“Shelley! What the hell..?”

“Let me in, Sam! I’m freezing!” she whined impatiently.

“Sorry,” Sam said, opening the storm door.

She stepped in and stood on the mat, wringing wet. Sam peered out through the pouring rain and saw nothing but his Jeep parked in the driveway.

“How’d you get here?” he asked, stupefied and in shock at this unexpected visit from his former one-night-stand.

Shelley Hatcher stared at him with a pained look. “Well, I drove myself most of the way. Until my car got stuck in the mud, that is. Your driveway is like a river bottom, Sam! Why don’t you get it paved?”

If she didn’t look so pathetic now, Sam would have burst out laughing and said something like, Gee, I would have gotten it paved had I known you were going to show up unexpectedly like this in the middle of a fucking monsoon, Shelley.

Instead, he replied, “Sorry about that. How far is your car?”

“About a hundred yards from the highway-I sure hope my portfolio isn’t ruined. I knew I should’ve left it in the damn car!” she exclaimed as Sam noticed the expensive-looking leather portfolio case that she was holding.

Sam said, “I have to admit that I’m a little speechless right now, Shelley. What are you doing here, anyway? How did you find out where I live?”

Sam could tell that he’d put her off with this line of questioning and he suddenly felt bad.

Shelley looked away for a moment then replied, “I found out from Bill Marshall… He was at the Hi-Light. I just came to say hi and to show you my portfolio… but it’s obvious that you aren’t interested, so I guess I’ll just go now…”

She reached for the doorknob.

“Hold it, Shelley!” Sam said, grasping her by the arm. She peered at him questioningly. “I’m sorry I seem so rude-it’s just that I’m still in shock that you’re here. I was also passed out on the sofa and haven’t quite joined the living yet. Here, let me help you off with your jacket.”

Shelley nodded and lightened up a bit as Sam helped her out of her rain-sopped denim jacket. He draped it over his arm, noticing that the rain had soaked all the way through to the cashmere sweater she was wearing.

“Christ, Shelley, you’re drenched to the bone! How long have you been out in this shit, anyway?”

“About half an hour. It took me at least twenty minutes just to trudge through the mud to get to your house. I’ve been beating on the door the rest of the time.”

“Well, you need to get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia. Why don’t you take a hot shower and I’ll throw your things in the drier in the meantime,” Sam suggested.

Shelley smiled graciously. “Thanks, Sam. I’m sorry I’m such a pain.”

“You’re not a pain, Shelley. C’mon, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

She followed Sam down the hall to the bathroom. He switched on the light as Shelley brushed past him and immediately began to peel off her soaked clothes. Sam stood in the doorway and watched in awe as she wrestled herself out of her jeans, unable to take his eyes away. She looked every bit as good if not better than she had on that fateful night: tall and lean with slender legs, slim hips, and firm, nicely-rounded breasts. She gathered up her wet clothes and grinned nonchalantly as she handed them to Sam.

“Here. I won’t be long,” she said.

“Take your time,” Sam replied, attempting to appear unaffected by her lack of modesty. “Would you like something hot to drink-some coffee?”

“You have something a little stronger?” Shelley asked as she leaned over the tub and valved in the water.

“Beer and whiskey.” he answered.

Shelley glanced at him coyly. “Whiskey would be nice.”

“You’ve got it,” Sam said, feeling an electric pang in his groin as he watched Shelley Hatcher step into the tub and draw the shower curtain.

Sam closed the bathroom door, carried Shelley’s clothes down to the basement and threw them into the drier. Returning to the kitchen, he realized that he was going downhill fast as he cursed the relentless throbbing in his head. He was more hung over than drunk now, having slept just long enough to plunge himself into the worst of both worlds.

He needed a good strong belt to set him back on course.

He went over to the cupboard, found the bottle of Jack and poured himself a couple of ounces. He drained the glass in a single gulp, grimaced, and refilled the glass before pouring another drink for Shelley. He made his way to the den and plopped down on the sofa.