Submerged Page 6

  Rebecca pulled a blanket from the couch and snuggled into the chair. Though she'd seen Sleeping with the Enemy a dozen times or more, it still filled her heart with a strong emotion. Hope.

  Chapter Five

  Edson, AB – Friday, June 14, 2013 – 12:35 AM

  Seated in rows of chairs before Marcus, his fellow addicts and Leo smiled and offered a greeting, welcoming him to the weekly midnight meeting of Narcotics Anonymous. He was the last person to speak because he was late as usual, but he'd make it short and sweet as usual.

  "My name's Marcus, and it's been a few weeks since I've been to an NA meeting. But I haven't used."

  Clapping erupted.

  He cleared his throat. "My friend Leo convinced me to come tonight, and even though I was doing okay, he was right. I needed to be reminded of why I'm here in the first place. Thanks for listening." He gave a nod, then sat down.

  No one seemed surprised at the brevity of his statement or at the lack of details. They were used to it. To the group, he knew he was a bit of a mystery. No one knew his whole story. Not even at the center. Shipley knew the bare bones, but only Leo knew about all the skeletons in Marcus's closet.

  The rest of the meeting passed with the standard meet-and-greet over coffee and cookies, though Marcus didn't feel much like socializing. He wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with Arizona, some pasta and his guilt.

  On the drive home, Marcus did his best to breathe normally as Leo steered his rusty old VW down the empty main street. When Leo drove through a four-way stop without stopping, Marcus shook his head.

  "What?" Leo barked. "There's no one else on the road this time of night."

  It was morning actually. Almost one. Regardless, Leo was right about the lack of traffic. It still frustrated Marcus though. His friend was so nonchalant about disobeying traffic laws. Didn't he know that people were killed every year because some idiot drove through a stop sign?

  "Why didn't you tell them your story?" Leo asked.

  "I'm not ready to share it."

  "One day, you're gonna talk."

  "Maybe."

  Leo stared at him with concern. "You can't keep it all locked up inside. It's not healthy. It won't help you recover."

  "I don't think I'll ever recover, Leo."

  "I know that's what you think, but I believe one day you will."

  Marcus shrugged. "Perhaps."

  "Look, man, just talk about it. Share. Admission is good for the soul."

  "You want me to admit what I've done? Tell everyone I killed my son and wife?"

  Leo released a heavy sigh, then crossed his massive arms over his chest. "You didn't kill them, Marcus. That accident wasn't your fault. One day you'll get that."

  There was an awkward silence before Leo changed the subject. "Wanna stop at my place for a coffee?"

  "Can't," Marcus replied. "I've got a date tonight."

  "With who?"

  "Not who. More of a what. I'm trying a new recipe tonight. Whole wheat linguine with shrimp, red peppers and a non-alcohol white wine cream sauce." Marcus saw the wishful look in his friend's eyes. "You want to join me for dinner?"

  Leo shook his head. "Can't. Val's waiting."

  Five minutes later, they pulled up in front of Marcus's house. The passenger door of the VW squealed in defiance as Marcus pushed it open. He stepped outside. "I'll bring some leftovers to work."

  Leo grinned. "I can always count on you, Chef Taylor. You should have your own TV show."

  Marcus watched Leo drive away and pondered his friend's comment. Maybe he should start looking into a new career. He wouldn't have a choice if he slipped up any more at the center. Shipley would keep pushing to get him ousted.

  Maybe a change of career was in Marcus's future.

  An hour later, he sank into the recliner, his fingertips balancing a plate heaped with his linguine creation on his fingertips. The dish smelled heavenly and his stomach rumbled. He'd even tossed in some finely chopped chilies to give it a kick, and he'd sautéed a handful of asparagus spears with a sprinkle of sesame seeds as a side dish.

  For the past month he'd been on an asparagus kick. Sautéed asparagus in sesame seeds and olive oil. Or with fresh lemon juice and dill. Or rolled in egg whites, cracker crumbs and parmesan. Blanched asparagus, chilled and seasoned with orange juice, tossed in green or pasta salads. Yeah, there wasn't anything he couldn't do to a spear of asparagus.

  Arizona lumbered into the room, eyeing his half empty plate wistfully.

  "Hey, girl. We'll go for a walk later. Okay?"

  Arizona barked once and spun in a circle. She dutifully sat down in front of him, waiting.

  "Okay, but I gotta warn you. It's got a bite."

  He pulled a strand of linguine from his plate and fed it to the dog. She swallowed it in one gulp. He went through the ritual "one for me and one for you" until his plate was empty.

  After their meal, Arizona settled on the rug by Marcus's feet and quickly went to sleep. Ignoring her soft snores, he flipped through the television stations. One channel was showing a marathon of Flashpoint reruns. Man, he missed that series. He'd gone through Flashpoint withdrawals for weeks after.

  He settled on a Clint Eastwood movie. One could never go wrong with Eastwood. It was one of the more recent films, produced by and starring the acclaimed film legend.

  Halfway into the movie, he fell asleep.

  And there was Jane and Ryan. They were laughing, playing on a coral pink beach with sand as soft as satin.

  Marcus could feel the sand between his toes as he approached them, warm waves lapping at his feet as he strolled close to the surf.

  Bermuda, he realized.

  He recalled the day Jane had pleaded with him to go.

  "We haven't had a real holiday since Ryan was born," she'd said, "and you could use a break. We both could." She giggled and leaned close to his ear. "Besides, we could have vacation sex. Lots of it."

  How could he say no to vacation sex?

  That night Jane appeared in the bathroom doorway, wearing some black slinky thing. "Do you like? I bought it online at Victoria's Secret. For this trip."

  "Victoria's Secret, huh?" He could see her hardened nipples through the lace. "I'm not sure it's working."

  Her smile wavered. "What do you mean?"

  Marcus tugged her against him. "It's not keeping your secret. I know exactly what you're thinking. And what you want."

  "You do, do you?"

  Jane turned her face and he captured her lips.

  "I do," he said when he pulled away.

  He'd spent the rest of the night showing her. Twice.

  Now, in his dream, he watched them on the beach. Jane, all tanned and carefree, chased Ryan along the waterline. Ryan ran backward, taunting her. "You can't catch me!"

  Marcus started running after them, even though he knew it was a dream.

  "You can't catch us, Dad," Ryan hollered.

  Marcus ran faster, his heart pumping erratically. Gasping. Faster. Pulse racing. But no matter how hard he ran, the distance between them grew.

  "Wait!" he cried out. "Wait for me!"

  Still running, Jane grabbed Ryan's hand. "You can't catch us, Marcus."

  He watched in horror as their bodies faded in the sunlight and the waves washed away their feet. Then their legs and arms. When they disappeared completely, he let out a gut-wrenching howl of anguish.

  He woke up, howling. "Don't leave me!"

  But he was alone, with the exception of Arizona, who sat on the floor beside the recliner and rested her head on his lap.

  "I'm okay," he said, stroking the dog's silky fur.

  The soulful look in her eyes suggested she disagreed.

  "Yeah, I know. I don't believe me either."

  From the clock on the mantle, he estimated he'd dozed off for nearly an hour. The Eastwood movie was still on, and good old Clint was loading up some deadly looking guns. The hero of the movie was out for revenge, and someone was about to pay.


  "I know how you feel, Clint," he muttered.

  He'd give anything to be able to hunt down the person responsible for making his life a living hell. Except he had no one to blame but himself.

  The flickering red light of the answering machine caught his eye. He'd forgotten to check it when he got home. Not that his phone was ringing off the hook these days.

  "Marcus, it's Wanda." His mother-in-law. "Are you coming to Edmonton next month? For the…you know, the get-together? Give me a call when you can, dear." There was a protracted pause. "Marcus, take care of yourself."

  He knew exactly what get-together Wanda was referring to—the annual memorial party for Jane and Ryan. Wanda had done the same thing every year since the death of her daughter and grandson's death. She always held it around June twenty-third, Jane's birthday. Once when he'd asked her why she didn't hold it in May, the month Ryan and Jane had died, Wanda had told him she couldn't function in May because of Mother's Day. She didn't consider that Jane's birthday was close to Father's Day.

  He had attended the first two memorial parties. Three generations of family had gathered at Jane's parents' house, half of them drinking from morning to night, while the other half walked around in a grief-stricken stupor. Marcus had joined both halves, and everything had gone fine until one of Jane's uncles shoved him up against a wall in the upstairs hallway.

  "I can't understand why you're here," the old man spat. "You killed 'em just as if you drowned 'em yourself. Where were you when they needed you? If you hadn't been so selfish going off to that damned cabin by yourself so you could get high, they never would have driven out there. They were going to see you, you worthless piece of shit!"

  Tormented by self-blame, Marcus had driven off into the night. He found himself in a downtown alley inhabited by dealers and hookers. Sex didn't interest him, but the drugs did. So he drowned his sorrow in a drug-induced fog that left him passed out on the floor in his bathroom. In his own vomit.

  He hadn't gone to the last three memorials. He couldn't face the condemnation in their eyes. He'd told his mother-in-law he was working and couldn't get the time off. It was a lie, of course. Even Shipley wouldn't be so heartless as to deny such a request.

  Marcus considered Wanda's invitation. No, I can't do that again.

  He deleted the message.

  Behind him, Arizona barked twice. When he glanced in her direction, she had the leash in her mouth.

  "Okay, okay. I get the hint. I'll get off my lazy ass and take you for a walk."

  Arizona wagged her auburn tail and dropped the leash by his feet.

  The residential area Marcus lived in had few houses. Most were separated by decades-old trees and spacious yards. In the shadows, nothing moved. No cars, no people.

  "Looks like everyone's asleep," he said to Arizona. "So no barking."

  The air was cool, no breeze.

  As Marcus neared the end of the road where it opened into a wooded ravine, he glanced at the charming two-story Victorian on the corner. There was a For Sale sign on the front lawn.

  Old Mrs. Landry's house. She'd lived there, alone, up until a week ago when she died in her sleep. He'd seen the ambulance parked in front. The paramedic said she died from a heart attack. Poor woman. No family that anyone could find, but more friends than the mayor himself. Yeah, Mrs. Landry could charm the stinger off a wasp.

  Prior to her death, the ninety-seven-year-old woman had been a gem of a neighbor, always friendly to anyone who passed her house, and she'd talk up a storm to anyone who listened. She hired neighborhood teens and foreigners to keep her yard the envy of the neighbors, but mostly, Marcus guessed, so she had regular company. It wasn't uncommon to see her sitting on her front porch sipping lemonade with the unwitting prey of the day. Though, in her defense, her visitors seemed happy to oblige.

  Marcus had obliged a few times and was regaled with stories from the Second World War and her late husband, Richard, a recipient of one of the highest honors for a Canadian war veteran—the Victoria Cross.

  He inhaled deeply. The air was fragranced by the numerous pine and lilac trees that lined Mrs. Landry's property. Jane would have loved that house. And the yard. She probably would have adopted Mrs. Landry too.

  Arizona eyed the ravine, her tongue lolling to one side, and he debated on letting her go off leash. They could cut through the ravine. It opened up near a small strip mall with a 7-Eleven, and he had a craving for a bag of chips.

  The ravine offered more than a shortcut. It presented a complete immersion into nature, and it was often used as a meeting place for local drug dealers, something Marcus had zero tolerance for. It wouldn't bode well to have temptation just outside his door. He'd taken to scaring off any of the young hoodlums he came across, threatening to sic Arizona on them.

  He looked at his dog. "I know you want to go in there."

  Arizona would be one happy dog. She'd also end up being one big tangled mess. Did he really want to spend the next hour brushing twigs, leaves and dirt from her fur after she dove into the brush and rolled around on the path?

  "Sorry, girl," he said, patting her head. "Not tonight. We'll take the long way around."

  Seemed like that was what his life had amounted to―taking the long way around everything.

  Chapter Six

  Edmonton, AB – Friday, June 14, 2013 – 1:49 AM

  Rebecca awoke to a dark house. It left her disoriented. Hadn't she left the lights on? Had the power gone out? Wait, that couldn't be. The TV was still on, but the movie was long over. The clock on the TV read: 1:49.

  She stood, stretched, then reached for the lamp. She flicked it on, and light filtered into the room. Must have been a power outage.

  Wesley had always looked after anything electrical or automotive. Now that he wasn't around, she had to call a handyman and mechanic to fix those problems. She was useless around anything mechanical. She'd never even changed a flat tire, though she could stop on the exact penny in one shot when filling her car with gas. Not exactly something she bragged about. Except to Kelly.

  She wandered into the kitchen, turned on the light, then set her glass on the counter. Fastened to the fridge by a peacock magnet was her latest To-Do list. Have someone check circuit breaker, she added to the bottom.

  She turned off the light, left the living room lamp on and headed down the hall. Her bedroom was at the far end, and as she stepped inside, she shivered at the cool air. She'd left a window open that morning and had forgotten to close it. She cranked it until it shut, then locked it. She'd become more vigilant with door and window locks after the whole Fog thing.

  She resisted the urge to check on Ella and Colton. They were safe. She knew that. She had to shake this weird feeling that had come over her. It reminded her of the time she'd found Wesley skulking around in the pitch black. She'd been to Bingo with Kelly and they'd gone for a drink afterward at Boston Pizza. It was after midnight before she'd arrived home, and all the lights were off. She assumed Wesley was in bed. Instead, he was waiting for her. In the dark.

  That was one of the very bad nights. One that solidified the divorce.

  She shrugged off the cobwebs of old memories and climbed into bed. She had a trip to look forward to. Some time alone to heal emotionally. It was long overdue.

  Shutting her eyes, she slipped into a troubled sleep. She dreamed she was swimming in the ocean, trying to escape someone, trying to reach the lights of the shore. If she could reach them, she'd be safe. She took in a mouthful of salty water and gagged. Her muscles ached with exhaustion.

  Swim, dammit!

  Rebecca was so tired. If only she could stop, close her eyes, sleep for a bit.

  With a sigh, she gave in to exhaustion. Her head slipped beneath the water.

  And she slept.

  Chapter Seven

  Edson, AB – Friday, June 14, 2013 – 12:02 PM

  "Glad to see you finally made it," Shipley said the second Marcus stepped from the elevator.

  "I'm two
minutes late, not an hour." Asshole.

  "Late is late."

  When Shipley wanted to bust someone's ass, Marcus knew damned well he couldn't argue.

  "Fine," he said, staring his supervisor straight in the eye. "Dock my pay by two minutes."

  Shipley twitched. "Don't think I won't."

  Marcus caught sight of Leo leaving the break room. "Sorry, Pete. I don't have time to chat with you."

  "I'm watching you, Taylor."

  Marcus pasted a smile on his face. "I hope you like the view then." With that, he strode toward his cubicle, clenching and unclenching his hands.

  When Leo saw him, he gave Marcus a pained look. "Why do you always have to goad him?"

  "Goad?" Marcus snickered. "I see you've been reading the dictionary again."

  "Thesaurus actually." Leo grinned. "Did you know there are, like, four dozen synonyms for the word idiot?"

  "Did you find Shipley's name on the list?"

  "You aren't getting my not-so-subtle message." Leo folded his arms across his chest. "Marcus, you are heading for trouble if you keep this up."

  "Lombardo!" Shipley barked behind them. "Cut the chitchat. I'm sure you've got paperwork to file."

  Leo rolled his eyes at Marcus. "The Almighty has spoken. Do not piss him off."

  "No more than usual."

  Marcus sat down at his desk and stared at the computer monitor. He picked up the headset. The second he set it on his head, the phone rang.

  "Nine one one. Do you need Fire, Police or Ambulance?"

  "Help me," a woman shrieked. "There's been a terrible accident."

  "Ma'am, do you need Fire, Police or Ambulance?"

  "Send them all!"

  "What's the address of the emergency?"

  "Twenty-five―" A loud explosion cut her off.

  "Please repeat the address, ma'am."

  The woman stammered out an address in an older residential neighborhood.

  "It's a house," she cried. "Two floors."

  "What's the number you're calling from?" When the woman gave him a cell phone number, he said, "And your name?"