Jon Athan - Am I Beautiful?

“You missed lunch. I thought you said you were going to take care of yourself.”

“Ye… Yeah.”

“Adam, what are we doing? This isn’t… communicating. Can I come in? Can we talk?”

Adam read the index cards again in search of a motive. Every piece of evidence reminded him of Miki, but he couldn’t imagine her doing such awful things. He sighed, then he went over and opened the door.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something,” he said as he walked back to the corkboard.

Amber stopped in the doorway. She feared she was going to stumble upon a wrecked room—a broken iMac, torn books, holes punched into the walls. She was surprised to see his office in pristine condition. The corkboard caught her attention. Adam normally used it to keep track of his schedule as well as his marketing plans.

Amber said, “Riley’s sleeping. I’ll go back and wake her in a couple of minutes. You can come, too, if you want to spend some time with her.”

“I will.”

“You will?”

“I’ll, um… I’ll do it soon.”

“Do what, Adam?” Amber asked as she crossed her arms. “Are you even listening to me?”

Adam looked at her, then back at the corkboard, and then back at his wife. He couldn’t tell her about Miki and his last trip to Japan. Dallas knew about his affair, but no one knew about his evil actions in Miki’s apartment. He felt compelled to tell her something , though. Thoughts were clawing at his skull, eager to get out of his head.

He said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with something.”

Amber looked at the board and asked, “Back in business?”

“No.”

“What is it then? You writing a book?”

Standing in a thinking pose, one arm crossed over his abdomen and a hand stroking his beard, Adam said, “I’m… I was reading the news and I saw a, uh… a pattern. I read about a…” He laughed nervously, then he said, “I read about a murder. And that murder reminded me of another murder I read about. And then I just… I guess I went down the rabbit hole.”

Amber asked, “What exactly are you saying? Murders and rabbit holes?”

Adam finally turned to face her. He could see the concern in her eyes. She was always optimistic, but she was obviously worried about her husband. He hadn’t contracted any viruses, but the pandemic still changed him. It was as if she were living with a stranger.

Adam pointed at his corkboard and said, “I’m talking about a serial killer in Los Angeles.”

Amber approached the corkboard and read the index cards. She closed her eyes, frowned, and lowered her head. The descriptions of the victims weren’t as graphic as they were in the news articles, but it was enough to unsettle her. The disturbing news made her think about her own daughter. What if it was Riley? —she thought.

Amber said, “Yeah, I… I heard about this. It was just announced a couple of days ago. The police are already investigating, so… what is all of this? What are you doing?”

Adam said, “What do you mean? There’s a serial killer out there, Amber. This is important. Someone needs to find…” He was going to say ‘ her, ’ but he stopped before he could reveal Miki’s gender. He grunted, then he said, “Someone needs to find whoever is doing this.”

“And you think that someone should be… you? No offense, Adam, but you created a timeline that the police have most likely already created by themselves. Don’t you think the cops already know all of this? They know more than this, right? It’s not like they release every piece of evidence to the public. What you’re doing here, it sounds… it sounds unnecessary and unhealthy. I don’t think you should be obsessing over this stuff, especially with Riley here. You should be spending time with her, not reading about… about dead kids.”

Adam knew more than the police. He knew the prime suspect’s full name and country of origin—enough information for the authorities to track Miki down and capture her. He thought about reporting it anonymously, but he feared no one was going to believe him. And if he tried to lie and create a fake backstory, he believed the police could track the tip back to him and confront him about it, causing him more legal and marital problems. He was convinced that he could only help the police by confessing to the crimes he had committed in Japan.

But a confession was out of the question. His family’s safety, his survival, and his freedom were his primary concerns. He could only hope the cops could catch Miki before she could catch him.

He said, “You’re right. I’m just overthinking things. Guess my mind is just looking for something… ‘important’ to do. You know I don’t like feeling useless.”

“I get it,” Amber said as she rubbed his shoulder. “Just remember that you’re not useless to us. You never will be. We need you, and I… I hope you need us, too.”

“Of course I do. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t important to me. I’m acting this way because… because you two are the most important people in my life.”

Amber said, “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this together.” She looked at his corkboard and said, “You know, you really should think about writing a book. You have the time and the imagination for it. I think you could write one hell of a horror novel. Maybe even a true crime book.”

Adam huffed, then he gave her a half-smile and said, “Maybe I will.”

“Well, before you get into that, you want to come to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat? Maybe spend some time with Riley?”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Pleased by her husband’s progress, Amber smiled and shed tears of relief. She hugged him and thanked him repeatedly. Adam wrapped his arms around her, rubbed her back, and kissed her head. He whispered words of comfort into her ear—‘ I love you. Everything’s okay. ’ But he continued staring at his monitor, images of Miki’s bloody, swollen face flashing in his mind.

The text message read: She’s still following me!!

It was sent to a contact labeled ‘Mom’ from a nine-year-old boy named Evan Tate. His little fingers shaking uncontrollably, he sent his mother another text message.

It read: What do I do??

He crouched in the storage closet of an abandoned apartment. Through the doorless doorway in front of him, he could see the living room. Sunshine fell through a broken window, shining light on the messy floor. The room was flooded with garbage—ripped newspapers, torn trash bags, tattered clothing, food wrappers and pizza boxes and oyster pails, and burnt spoons and broken condoms.

He could hear wind whooshing, leaves swishing, and birds twittering outside. He even heard a couple of coughing car engines. But he couldn’t scream for help without exposing his position.

He sent his mother another message: I’m scared .

Evan wasn’t supposed to be there. He had promised his mother that he was going to stay inside while she went to work at a local grocery store—and he broke that promise. While walking to a friend’s house, he ran into a woman in a trench coat on the streets of Compton. She had tried to speak to him, but he ignored her.

It wasn’t until he walked two more blocks that he realized the mysterious woman was following him. He sprinted down the sidewalk, juked this way and that way, and zigzagged across the street, but he couldn’t lose her. He even yelled at her and screamed for help, but no one came to his rescue. So, he ran into the abandoned apartment building and hid in the closet.