Jennifer Hillier: Creep

It had never once occurred to him that it would end this way, on her terms. That she’d try to get rid of him, as if she were taking out the trash. She’d caught him off guard, and it was his fault for being surprised. He was normally never surprised.

He normally couldn’t feel surprise.

He might have been able to accept the sexual relationship ending, but trying to pawn him off onto another professor? Unacceptable. She was flexing her muscles, and that was not okay. And then that gaudy display with Morris and the bracelet, sitting on his lap, batting her eyelashes like a lovesick teenager? Making wedding plans as if everything were all right with the world?

That was very not okay.

Ethan thought of the picture he’d e-mailed her-the one with her ass in the air-and finally allowed himself to feel a twinge of satisfaction. It was Photoshopped, but she didn’t need to know that. Hopefully it had done its job.

Okay, he needed to think of something else. Anything else. Forcing Sheila out of his thoughts, he surveyed the large room.

Dozens of dirty heads were bent over plates of hot food, open mouths consuming whatever slop St. Mary’s was serving tonight. The room was filled with skin diseases, lice, and respiratory infections he was sure you could catch just by breathing. His skin itched thinking about it and he pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pocket. The ventilation system worked well and air fresheners were scattered everywhere, but the smell of filth was never completely masked.

A few feet away, Abby was at her station handing out cups of apple juice and milk. Ethan watched her mouth form words he couldn’t make out over the constant din of chatter and eating. Even wearing an apron stained from the grease of a thousand meals past, Abby looked beautiful, her un-made-up complexion making her look even younger than her twenty-three years.

Abby Maddox was Ethan’s live-in girlfriend. He adored Abby.

But he craved Sheila. Nothing in life was ever simple.

A guffaw of laughter drew Ethan’s attention to the corner of the room, and he saw that Marlon was here tonight, looking no better or worse than normal. The old black man sat in his usual spot by the window, under the sign that read BELIEVE IN MARY BECAUSE SHE BELIEVES IN YOU. He was muttering to himself as he scanned the newspaper. Ethan hadn’t seen Marlon in a month, but knew the schizophrenic man wouldn’t be able to explain where he’d been. Even if he could articulate it, he wouldn’t, because Marlon believed himself to be a spy for a supersecret government agency disguised as a homeless man, right down to the feces- and urine-stained clothes. His job was to find old newspapers and circle code words. During one brief hour of clarity a few months back, Ethan learned that Marlon had once been a high school custodian in Portland with a wife and daughter. But as far as the volunteers could ascertain, Marlon had been off his meds for at least a year. And nobody was looking for him anymore.

The young woman with the old face sat at the table nearest the restroom. Her name was Marie, and she was a prostitute, thief, and crystal meth addict. For twenty bucks, Marie would tell you anything you wanted to know about her life, and for another twenty, she’d throw in a blow job. She’d been pretty once, a runner-up in the Miss Teen New Mexico pageant when she was sixteen, but looking at her in this place, her hair greasy and sticking to her pimply forehead, it was hard to believe.

Ethan had talked to Marie every week for the last four weeks and she’d agreed to be one of his long-term case studies. He was planning to follow her progress-or lack thereof-over the next year as he finished his master’s thesis. Assuming she stuck around St. Mary’s long enough. You never knew where these people would be from one week to the next.

Marie’s eyes finally shifted toward Ethan and he locked his gaze on hers. It was hard for her to stay focused for more than a few seconds. The meth made her twitchy. Ethan jerked his head in the direction of the shelter’s side door. She sighed, but made no move to get up. Finally she nodded.

Glancing at Abby, Ethan asked another volunteer to man his green bean station. His girlfriend was engrossed in conversation with the head coordinator, but she favored Ethan with a smile as he passed. Abby knew all about his interviews with Marie, and it didn’t matter to her that he was here for reasons unrelated to any sense of humanitarianism.

Ethan smirked inwardly. Humanitarianism. Please. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to anyone at this shithole beyond the scope of his thesis. But he admired Abby’s enthusiasm-it set her apart from Sheila. He couldn’t imagine his professor ever showing up and getting her pretty little hands dirty. Especially now that she had a massive fucking diamond hanging off it.

Marie. Focus on Marie. The homeless woman was inside his circle of control. Sheila, at least for the time being, was not. There was plenty of time to deal with his former lover later.

He watched as Marie exited the room through the back door. Really, who would notice if Marie disappeared off the face of the earth? She had no permanent home, no job, no skills. Both her parents were dead and her brother in Albuquerque wanted nothing to do with her. If she went missing, if she was kidnapped and murdered and cut up into little pieces and buried in a place where nobody would ever find her, who would care?

Nobody.

The thought excited him.

He found her standing several feet into the alleyway between St. Mary’s and the army surplus store next door, which was closed for the night. The air was warm but Marie looked cold. A fresh cigarette dangled between stained fingers, and one skinny arm was wrapped around her body for warmth. The light was dim and kind to her. She almost passed for pretty.

“What now?” Marie’s voice was flat. “I told you everything last week.”

“That’s the point, Marie,” Ethan said patiently. He glanced up and down the alleyway. They were alone. “We’re supposed to talk every week, remember? That’s the deal.”

“Fuck that.”

“You don’t want the money?” Ethan reached into his pocket and took out a thin wad of cash. He peeled off a crisp $20 bill, waving it in her face. “All you have to do is talk. A lot easier than some of the other shit people ask you to do.”

She snatched the money and stuck it into the pocket of her jeans.

“What did you do this week?” he asked.

“Scored, got high, scored, got high…”

“What about your kid?” Ethan’s eyes searched her face. “Did you call him like you said you were going to?”

“I was high when I said that.” Marie flicked ashes onto the cement. They burned orange a moment before dying out. “I got no business calling him.”

“I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

“He don’t want to talk to me. Trust me.”

“Which is why you should call him,” Ethan said with a sigh. “So eventually he will want to talk to you, so he knows you care.”

“It don’t work like that. And besides, my brother would never give him the phone.” Marie’s voice was hard.

“So you still haven’t contacted anybody?” Ethan watched her face carefully. “No family, no friends, nobody from Albuquerque?”

“Nope.”

“So nobody knows where you are?”

“They can all go fuck themselves.” She fingered her necklace. It was a silver amulet on a black leather string. She’d told him last week that it was the only thing she’d brought with her from New Mexico, other than the clothes on her back. Something to ward off evil spirits. It glinted in the dim light of the alley.

Ethan nodded, satisfied.

Marie crushed her cigarette out with her running shoe. She stepped closer to him, tracing one skinny, nicotine-stained finger down the front of his shirt. “So, listen.” Her voice was suddenly husky. “I could use another twenty.”