An Axis Oblique - Chapter Nine

Hold onto your hats, kids. Here comes Chapter Nine!


–– Nine ––
January 5, 9:18

“Where are you going?” Nicky whined, as though thoroughly entitled to a full explanation.
“Nowhere special,” Cynthia softly replied. “I just need to get away for awhile.” It was strange for her, being back in that kitchen. So much in it reminded her of Henry.
“But why?” He persisted.
“Honey, could you give us a moment alone please?” His mother tried to alleviate the pressure. For a moment, it seemed as though he had no intention of complying––until in a huff, he stomped off with bitter feet.
“I hate to have to do this to him.” She sighed. “He’s been through so much in such a short time. But that’s exactly why it’s the perfect––I mean, better he hate me than––”
“Me?” The woman must have known it was where she was headed. “With all due respect, Cynthia, it’d be a flat out mistake to make this about me or anyone else. If it’s a fresh start you’re after, do it for yourself. I can handle my own affairs just fine.”
“I didn’t mean…” She began backtracking, then thought better of it. “I’m sorry.”
The woman was looking at her now, much like a stuffy psychiatrist would a juicy fixer-upper sprawled out on her couch. “You mind if I ask you a question?” she asked, (which, technically counted as one). “Why did you come here?”
Cynthia looked up. “I beg your pardon?”
“To Maplewood,” she clarified. “What exactly were you looking for?” The question caught her off guard and she stood frozen for a moment.
“Who says I’m looking for anything?”
The woman raised her brow. “My dear, everybody’s looking for something. I just naturally assumed you had a reason.”
Cynthia held true to her naiveté. Of course she had a reason. She had thousands. Leaving home had, in fact, been the one truly adult decision she’d seen through thus far in an entirely self-indulgent existence. She said none of this out loud, of course. Heaven forbid.
“You know what?” Mrs. McAllister broke in at last. “Never mind. Your reasons are your own business,” and proceeded to empty the dishwasher.
Cynthia wanted to reply. She’d seen a new side to Henry’s nagging other-half these last two weeks; one far more palatable. She didn’t want to impede the woman’s gradual de-clawing with more cold silence. Nevertheless, she had no real response.
“How’s everything with Patrick?” She changed the subject instead.
“Oh I’d say about as inconclusive as ever.” Her tone was considerably lighter. “If only that one had half the vocal capacity of his brother, there’d be no mistaking his road to recovery…or progression into…God only knows…”
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” Cynthia offered, and stood up. “Anyway, I guess I’d…better be…”
Going. Yes, it was that time indeed. Just like that, she found herself back at the beginning. She had no destination when she set out for what would eventually become Maplewood. She’d just sort of ended up there. Wonder where we’ll end up this time… she mused silently. One thing was certain. Her aim would be a whole lot higher.
–––––––––––––––
Come on baby light my fire…
The chill was like something out of Dostoevsky.
“Hey I’m a person too, man. Least you can do is acknowledge…”
Keith Merrimac looked up. The young man in jet-black eyeliner stood shivering with a soggy cigarette hanging out of his pierced black lips, then moved on to the next nearest nicotine junkie.
It suited him just fine. He was not in the habit of doing favors for pissy street punks on his best days; let alone this freezing motherfucker. What disturbed him was the curious fact he had not even noticed the kid standing there for almost a full minute. By itself, that might not have seemed so unsettling, except…it wasn’t the first such occurrence.
Sounds like someone’s losing his mind…
And there it was again.
He could not quite put his finger on it, but every so often, he felt, or rather…heard…something––someone; thinking thoughts that were not his own…
Or were they?
Real existential stuff there, Sheriff. Not too late to become a philosopher. Look alive first; got yourself a stray kitty at ten o-four…
The vaguely familiar Accord pulled into visitor parking and, after about a half a minute, out stepped the girl with a featured role in his most recent fantasies. Cynthia, the McAllister nanny with the mischievous brown eyes and lightly-streaked hair was slowly approaching. Well what have we here? But, as he stood there in the shallow cold, he knew far better than to look a sumptuous gift horse in her beautiful mouth.
“Hello there.” He stopped her. At first, she swiftly looked him over, confused… “Hi,” she said with measured unease. “Detective…”
“Merrimac. Keith.” License to kill… “Cynthia, right? From the…” She nodded in slow recognition. “Something I can––?”
“Hmm? No. No, not…I mean…yes…” She took a breath. “I’m not really sure, to be completely honest,” she said. “I’ve got some…information…I thought maybe...”
Oh? “What kind of information?”
“Well I don’t…it’s about Henry––Dr. McAllister…?”
Keith could barely contain himself. Her soft, pallid skin looked so warm and inviting. It was all he could do not to reach out and––easy, big fella. They all put their tampons in one wing at a time… “Something you couldn’t disclose before?”
“Well no, it’s not…I just…I mean, I’m sure it’s not even relevant to…” Clearly she was struggling with something. “I was hoping that maybe his wife would have said something by now. But, since I’m kind of on my way out of town for awhile…not exactly sure when I’ll be back…if I’ll be back…”
“Alright.” He put out his cigarette. “How bout we talk inside? Or better yet, there’s a coffee shop right around the corner, if you’d rather someplace...a little less formal…” Her eyes were onto him. He’d seen that look a thousand times before. So practically, had every man…and something about them said loudly and distinctively-clear there was just no way in Hell she was ever going to fall for––
“Okay, sure.”
Keith smiled. “Great. Just let me run upstairs and grab my notebook…”

Was this really going to be all business?
The question dogged him all the way up to his office and then back down again. On his way, he managed a glimpse of her checking hair and make-up in the scratchy plaque bolted into the aging brown brick.
Go get’em, tiger…
He intended to.
*
“So do you come here often?” she asked off a steaming hot sip.
The detective restrained a chuckle. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”
“What? No, I didn’t mean…I meant to conduct interviews. For your job?”
“Oh. Oh yes. Well…” he thought about it. “No, not...” and settled on: “Sometimes.” Cynthia smiled again. When at first, he’d suggested the coffee shop, she was somewhat taken aback, but decided to accept solely on faith. If you couldn’t trust a cop, after all… But now that they were actually here, complete with nervous looks and sweaty palms, she had no doubt that this ‘Detective Merrimac’ had more than coffee on his mind.
“So, how do you wanna do this?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You did say something about the McAllister case, didn’t you? I’m all ears…”
“Oh no, not…exactly. It’s actually more about Henry himself. You know, his, um…character…” Cynthia stopped, unsure of how to continue.
Was she really going to do this?
The detective was waiting, looking her dead in the eyes.
Forgive me, Henry...
*
Keith used the next twenty minutes to take it all in. There was gossip awhile back concerning the Todd girl; the cold, empty expression on his face the day of her funeral, but he wouldn’t have guessed it by looking. Sure there were suspicions. Even assumptions. But infidelity was not murder.
“Am I to assume then, that you and Henry were, um…?”
“What? Oh no. No, no, no, we were just friends...” And for a fraction of a second, he detected a wisp of regret in her defensiveness. “Henry never even made a pass at me…” Her eyes shifted down to her coffee.
Hook...
“Find that pretty hard to believe,” he said, recognizing a window when he saw one. When it came to the ladies, he was no slouch himself. The girl tilted her head slightly askew and met his heavy gaze for only an instant…then smiled shyly…
Line…
*
And that was more or less how it began. All he really had to say. Cynthia Bernice Caldwell, vulnerable, angry, consumed with confusion, frustration and most of all loss…was lost herself. In earnest, she hadn’t been fishing for a compliment. She really didn’t have to. This one just jumped in the boat. And, for reasons beyond her clouded comprehension, and perhaps, eventual regret…she did not throw it back.
*
Sinker



Only four more to go and Volume One is in cyberspace. Thanks for reading.

D.A.