Vincent Zandri - The remains

That was the reason Franny was able to paint Molly and me all those years ago.

“But how did you know Whalen was coming back for me here at my apartment? How did you know he was going to do it tonight?”

“Intuition, plus a little help from your friends, the Scaramuzzis.”

I shook my head as if I didn’t comprehend him.

“Caroline called me on my cell as soon as you left her house last evening. She didn’t want you to know that she called me. But she felt it would be the prudent thing to do, considering Whalen hadn’t been officially declared dead yet and this was the first night you’d be alone since the incident on the mountain.

“I acted on a hunch. Instead of going home last night, I parked outside your apartment. I was just about to leave this morning when I noticed a FedEx truck pull up to your building. At the same time, I also noticed a strange looking individual walking around the back toward your terrace door. He was dressed in blue overalls like a maintenance man. I didn’t like the looks of it. I followed him, right into the apartment.” He took another sip of coffee. “The rest you know.”

I sat back, felt my hands, warm around the cup of tea.

“I never knew,” I exhaled. “Never had a clue you were out there.”

“I guess I’ve still got the touch.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll go private when retirement kicks in.”

“By the looks of it, you’re only a few X’s away.”

It was over. Finally. No more Whalen. Still, I didn’t feel as relieved as I should have felt. Maybe relief would come when the events of the morning finally settled in. Who knew how long that would take?

Harris was about to turn away when I stopped him.

“Detective,” I said out the open window. “What about the cell phones? Had Whalen been stealing them from the Hollywood Carwash like we thought?”

He nodded. “Stealing them, but not enough of them to make it seem suspicious. From what the manager told me, four or five phones were reported missing by various customers over a period of about six months. When you consider that the manager gets calls on a daily basis about a missing this or a missing that, he never would have suspected a pattern.”

“Until you pointed it out to him.”

“Exactly. In any case, it certainly explains how Whalen texted you without having to acquire his own cell phone account.”

I took in a breath.

“Thank you, Detective.” I smiled.

Harris left me alone again.

I sat in the backseat, stared out onto the apartment parking lot and all the people that had gathered there. I looked on the scene until the people began to disperse along with the police and the EMTs. I stared until all that was left were Franny and Caroline amidst a backdrop of ivy-covered brick buildings.

When Harris came back to the Jeep, he told me he had to get back downtown. I slipped on out, gave him a hug.

“Thank you again.”

“Thank you for being strong,” he said. “For all these years.”

I looked into his eyes.

“You never told me that you knew my father,” I added.

He cocked his head.

“I knew all about what your dad discovered in that house in the woods back in ’63. I figured if he never told you, and you had never found out about it on your own, then why should I be the one to do it. By the looks of it, your father didn’t want you to know. He wanted to protect you, Rebecca. You and Molly. He wanted to protect you from Whalen’s evil.”

He told me that he would be in touch. That he would need to question me further later on in the week. But for now my statement on the incident inside my apartment bathroom would do nicely. After all, he’d been there to witness the event himself.

With a smile on his face, he got back into the Jeep and took off.

I could only assume that for a man on the verge of retirement, he too had realized some serious closure this morning with Whalen’s death-with having personally put a bullet in the monster; the devil. I know I did. But then why did I feel so sad about the apparent source of all those texts? Had I ever really believed that they’d somehow come from Molly? Was it possible I could believe in something heaven sent? It was all a question of faith.

Standing in the parking lot I faced my friends.

“You guys want to come in?” I asked. “Get out of the cold?”

Franny smiled. It was a rare event to see him smile. It made me feel good to see it.

“We’ll go inside your apartment,” Caroline exclaimed. “It’s a crime scene now. We’ll pack up your things and move them back to the farm. My farm.”

I took a look back around at the apartment building. I pictured the torn away shower curtain, the blood stains, the yellow police ribbon that blocked off access to the bathroom. I would help Caroline pack my things. But I would never return to the place again.

Like Whalen, and that now burned down house in the woods, it was all a part of the past. All that remained was to move on.

“Have you eaten?” Caroline asked.

“I had breakfast,” I said, setting my hand on my stomach. “I’m not sure where I’m getting my appetite, but I could definitely eat again.”

“Pancakes,” Franny said, that smile still illuminating his round face. “Pancakes and blueberries and syrup.”

I laughed.

Caroline laughed.

“Pancakes it is, Franny,” I said. “I know a great little diner right around the corner.”

Together the three of us made our way for Caroline’s truck.

It seemed strange in a way, a little more than an hour before I was about to be killed by a homicidal maniac. Now I was going out for pancakes. I recalled one of my mother’s cherished sayings, God works in mysterious ways.

I looked up at the blue sky, smiled at Molly. I saw a patch of clouds and I swear I saw her face. In the clouds I made out Molly’s face as though she were looking down at me and smiling. I might have been the only one to recognize the face. But it was there all the same. You just had to know how to look for it. Molly was in heaven, and she was watching out for me, for my life. Just as she always had.

There was no mystery in that.

Dear Mol:

A lot has changed since I last wrote you.

After spending a year with the Scaramuzzis on their farm, I decided to move back into mom and Trooper Dan’s house. Robyn has moved in with me and together we have started a private art school called, appropriately enough, The School of Art. We run it out of the house now. We have over fifty students, most of them young children. There are so many paintings, drawings and sculptures hanging around we also decided to renovate the barn and turn it into a gallery featuring the student’s artwork. Franny himself contributed five pieces before he passed away in his sleep just before last Christmas. We were able to afford the barn’s renovation with the sale of just one of those paintings. A quirky abstract on traditional landscape he called ‘Listen.’

After he appeared on MSNBC, the demand for his work quadrupled, along with the price per piece. Before he died, Franny had become a rock star before our very eyes. He saved my life and I will miss him with all my heart. I will never forget what he did for me, and for us. I will always love him.

Little Michael is walking now. He gets along so well with Robyn’s little Molly that you would think they are brother and sister. Twins. They are inseparable and are permanent fixtures around the studio. Sometimes I like to think that you and Michael can see them from up in heaven. You would be so proud. Caroline has taken on the job of Nanny. I wonder if one day we’ll allow them to play flashlight tag behind the house. Naturally, the woods and Mount Desolation will be strictly forbidden territory.