Whisper to Me(105)

Only …

Is it just my imagination? Is it just retrospect, is it just what I know now that makes me think there’s a hesitation, a slight pulling away? A chink of light, in the darkness, flatter and harsher than the bursting rockets of my blood vessels, something bright and cold, a lamp for examining the cracks of things, for tilting them over, and revealing their flaws.

My flaws.

But it’s okay, I tell myself. It’s okay, because he’s still kissing you.

But the magic is broken. And of course, it’s not like you’re kissing me now.

I wish you were. I am looking at a stick insect instead. It does not seem like it wants to kiss me. And I wouldn’t want it to.

I’m not that desperate.

Yet.





The next day, Julie called me. It was kind of out of the blue.

“Um … hi,” I said.

“Hi, Cass.”

Silence.

“Listen,” said Julie. “You want to come over later, maybe? Just … I don’t know. Just to talk.”

I nodded, like an idiot, as if Julie could see that through the phone. “Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” I said. It did actually. “What time?”

A couple of hours later I arrived at the condo. There was a police car outside, parked. Empty. I noticed it because I always noticed police cars, those days. I figured it couldn’t be anything to do with Julie, I mean she couldn’t be in trouble, but I quickened my pace anyway.

I rode up in the elevator and went down the corridor, then knocked on Julie and Paris’s door. Julie’s door, I guess I should say. Julie opened it and the first thing she said was “Sorry.”

“Sorry what?” I said.

She inclined her head toward the living room. “There’s a cop here,” she said. “He just showed up.”

“More questions?”

“No. No … he’s the one who came. That night. When I called 911. He says he just wants to talk about Paris. He seems … upset almost.”

“Weird,” I said. Thinking: The killer? “Do you think he … I mean … could he be …?”

Julie shook her head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see.”

I followed Julie into the living area. A guy in cop uniform stood up and blinked at me, as if I were brightly lit.

“Brian,” he said, holding out a limp hand to shake.

“Cassie,” I said.

Julie made coffee. The three of us sat there in the living area, drinking it. The others ate cookies, but I didn’t of course.

“Paris made these,” said Julie. “They’re kind of stale.”

Brian didn’t complain.

For a while no one spoke. I was thinking: Julie was right. Because Brian did not seem like a killer. I mean, he had a little goatee and he kind of sniffled when he cried. He was weedy too—I couldn’t see him hoisting a body over the side of a boat. Or overpowering a prostitute, for that matter.

“So, Brian,” said Julie after a while, after it became clear that Brian wasn’t going to break the ice. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” said Brian.

“Um. Right.”

“I just … I wanted to talk to someone who knew her,” he said.

A pause. Brian looked at me as if for help, but I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to help him because I didn’t understand what he wanted.

“Why?” said Julie. “Why do you want to talk to someone who knew her?”

Brian looked down at the carpet between his feet. “Because I … I liked her. Loved her, I guess.”

He looked up, then down again.

“Oh,” said Julie.

She met my eyes, and mouthed: What the ****?

“I was … I was following you that night, you know,” said Brian, looking at Julie now.

“You were following us?” said Julie.

“Yeah. I mean, following Paris. But it was usually you who drove her, right?”

“Yes,” said Julie.

“Why?”

“Because of the killer! Because I was worried about her. I kept telling her, she had to be careful. But she didn’t listen to me. She just laughed. She thought she was invincible.” Julie turned to me. “Immortal, you know?”

“Yes,” I said. I did know. I could picture her laughing.

“Well, I was the same,” said Brian. “That’s why I followed your car. I just … I just wanted to protect her.”

“Yeah,” said Julie. “You didn’t do such a good job of that, did you?”

Brian started crying. There was no warning: tears just started leaking out of his eyes abruptly.

“Jesus ******** Christ, Brian, pull yourself together,” said Julie. I was starting to see why Paris had liked her. She was tough.

“Sorry,” said Brian.

Julie flinched. “No. I apologize. There was no need to snap at you.” I could hear her mom in her voice; it’s weird how people can do that, kind of scold themselves—it’s wired into them from childhood, I think. “It’s just … everyone was in love with Paris.”

It was my turn to flinch. That was me, wasn’t it? I was just like everyone else. I didn’t mean anything to Paris. I was just one of the people, the little people who— “So,” said Julie, interrupting my thoughts. “You were there, already, when I dialed 911. Right?”