Carys Jones - Third To Die

“No!” Rhonda insisted. “You need to go out, do some shots, dance and forget all about your mystery man back home!”

“Mmm,” Brandy still wasn’t convinced.

“Because let’s face it, Brandy. He’s clearly forgotten about you.”

Rhonda’s observation was harsh but true and it was just what Brandy needed to hear.

“I’ll go.” She nodded assertively.

“Good girl!” Rhonda declared triumphantly. “See you at eight-thirty. Wear something inappropriate.”

Brandy ended the call and let the silence of her apartment settle over her. She knew that Rhonda was right, not just about the fact that she needed to get out but also about Aiden having forgotten about her. And sitting around on her own, night after night, wasn’t going to change anything. If he was going to call then he’d have called. Brandy stood up purposefully and marched in the direction of her bedroom to select an outfit to wear for the evening.

*

Aiden parked up outside the Copes and May offices and glanced inside. He could see Betty positioned neatly behind her desk, typing away with her glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose. He didn’t like what he was about to do.

“Ah, Mr. Connelly,” Betty greeted him brightly, removing her glasses as she looked up from her computer monitor so that they were hanging around her neck.

“How did everything go with Clyde White? I hope he didn’t give you too frosty a reception.”

“He was as expected,” Aiden raised his shoulders slightly. “I came away in one piece which was all I could have hoped for.”

“Oh, good.” Betty went to put her glasses back on when she realized that instead of continuing on to his own office, Aiden was hovering awkwardly by her desk.

“Coffee?” she asked him. “I’ll just finish this payment and then I’ll get right on it.”

“Actually, I need to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Betty turned and gave him her full attention, her eyes bright with interest.

“Can you come in my office?” Aiden suggested.

“Of course.” Betty immediately stood up and carefully straightened her skirt before following Aiden into his office.

“Take a seat.” Aiden gestured to Edmond’s chair. Tentatively, Betty lowered herself into it, clasping her hands neatly in her lap and leaning forward like a child awaiting sentencing from an angry teacher.

“I need to talk to you about Edmond,” Aiden sighed, leaning against his desk rather than sitting.

“Oh?”

“When I went to see Clyde White he told me that Edmond is more than a bit sick. That he’s actually terminally ill.”

“Oh my.” Betty’s left hand fluttered up to her chest as she took a sharp intake of breath.

“So following my appointment with Mr. White, I went to check in on Edmond. You know how he is; he kept us in the dark to prevent worrying us. But it’s cancer, Betty, and it’s bad.”

Betty wore a grave expression as she stared intently at the carpeted floor, one hand still resting upon her chest.

“I hate being the bearer of bad news but he wanted you to know. He expressly asked me to come and tell you.”

Betty began to shake her head woefully.

“No,” she uttered, her voice barely audible. “Not him too!”

Aiden went and knelt beside her, cupping her right hand in his own.

“He’s one of the good ones, Mr. Connelly,” Betty declared as she looked up to meet his gaze. Watery pools gathered beneath her eyes and began to slowly burst their banks and descend down the wrinkled crevasses in her cheeks.

“I know,” Aiden tightened his grip on her hand which was trembling with despair. “And please, call me Aiden.”

Betty’s entire body began to shudder as her tears intensified. Aiden sat and held her hand as she cried, knowing there was little else he could do to comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” Betty muttered as she tried to compose herself.

“Don’t be.”

“May I be excused?” Betty struggled to her feet and wiped some of the tears from her face.

“Of course,” Aiden immediately replied. “Take all the time you need, Betty. I know how much you care for Edmond.”

“Will he accept visitors?” she asked, her voice on the cusp of breaking.

“Yes,” Aiden nodded. “But perhaps wait until tomorrow. Edna mentioned that having visitors tires him.”

“Then may I take leave tomorrow to visit him?”

“Absolutely.”

Betty took slow, deep breaths as her sorrow subsided. Carefully she straightened both her hair and her outfit.

“He’s more than an employer to me,” she told Aiden with certainty. “He’s a friend.”

“I feel the same way.”

“That’s the magic of Avalon,” Betty added wistfully. “There are no strangers here, only family. It’s why people never leave.”

Aiden resisted pointing out that he was still very much a stranger in the eyes of the majority of Avalon’s residents.

He watched Betty leave, sharing her anguish. Edmond was indeed a good man and a good friend to them both. Alone in his office, Aiden began to contemplate his time spent in Avalon. Edmond had always been there to watch over him, to guide him. He was one of the few people in town who were proud of Aiden’s triumph with Brandy’s case. Everyone else felt like Aiden had betrayed the memory of Brandon White by exposing the truth, but Edmond could see past that and saw the tremendous victory that had occurred; that Aiden had saved the life of an innocent woman.

Thinking about Brandy made Aiden’s whole body tense with guilt. He should have called her. He knew that. He owed her an explanation, he owed her a goodbye. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, leaned back in his chair and made the call he’d been dreading.

*

Brandy rarely drank. After she’d downed the third shot Rhonda had bought her, she began to feel like she was floating and that the whole world had tilted on its axis. Dreamily she manoeuvred herself on to the dance floor where the rest of the evening became a blur of neon lights and pounding melodies which encouraged her body to move at a frenzied pace.

Somehow Brandy made it back to her apartment. She didn’t remember Rhonda struggling to place her in a cab, or how the driver insisted that if she threw up he’d kick her out. She didn’t remember anything until she woke up face down on her bed, atop all of the covers and still wearing her outfit from the night before.

The sun burned brightly through her windows. Having been too drunk to close her curtains, it seared across the bed and caused Brandy to wince and move. As she rolled over she felt almost blinded by its brilliance.

“Owww,” she shielded her eyes and groggily sat up. The room spun slightly but then settled. Brandy raised a hand to her head which felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool balls as she slept.

“Owww,” she moaned again as she pushed herself off the bed and headed for her main living area where she poured herself a glass of water which she downed in one. Her throat felt brittle and dry, as if she had been eating sandpaper all evening.

The water helped the sensation, but only a little. Everything ached. Brandy already wanted to go back to bed and sleep away the discomfort. She was about to turn back around and return to her room when she noticed the display on her answering machine was flashing with the number one. Her heart froze in her chest and for a prolonged moment she stared at it in disbelief. Then she pressed play and stood and listened to her solitary message.

“Brandy, it’s me, Aiden. I know I should have called sooner but…I’m sorry. I can’t, I won’t be coming to Chicago. Things here in Avalon are…complicated. I’m sorry, Brandy. Truly I am. Please don’t hate me.”