In the First Early Days of My Death by Catherine Hunter Page B
Authors: Catherine Hunter
Tags: Mystery
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âHave you ever been to Golden?â she asked. She tried to tell him how the light hit the mountains there, but she couldnât get the words right. She sounded dumb, and Alika was growing distracted, bored with her.
Evelyn felt that old, panicky flutter in her chest, that feeling that she might crack in two. She had to get his attention, make him see her again. So she told him the story of her brother, Mark, and he listened. He was sympathetic, placing one of his large, warm hands over hers, sending a tingle through the veins of her arm into her heart. But afterwards he never called her. He didnât come back to the store for a whole week.
Evelyn knew the name of his gym from the membership card in his wallet, and she strolled up and down the sidewalk in front of it, trying to look casual, stopping for coffee in the restaurant across the road, watching the gym door through the window. When Alika came out, she ran right into him. What a surprise, he said. Of course they just had to go for coffee.
As she sat across from him in the restaurant, trying to force another coffee into her stomach, Evelyn realized Alika wasnât interested in what she was saying. When he said goodbye so easily it almost broke her heart, he made no promise to call. But she remembered where he worked, where he shopped, his home address. He had invited her to all these places by leaving his wallet on her counter.
Evelyn got up from the couch and retrieved her phone from the kitchen. Then she snuggled back under her quilt and dialled Alikaâs number. Sheâd been calling him several times a day, since she learned that Wendy was in the hospital, but she was never able to reach him. Tonight it was the same. Wendyâs voice on the answering machine. Evelyn hung up. She laid the phone on her belly and closed her eyes, losing herself again in the memory of the happiest days of her life.
One evening, a year ago last spring, Alika and Evelyn ran into each other for the sixth time. Or was it the fifth? Evelyn counted. No. It was the sixth time, and Alika had taken her to a lounge for drinks. And that night heâd taken her home. To his house. She never wanted to leave.
All last June and July, she went to his house every Friday night and spent the weekend, working at making him fall in love with her, at making his house her home. She left her toothbrush, a comb, articles of clothing. She was only waiting for the word from Alika and sheâd give up her apartment. She bought a new mat for his bathroom floor and stocked his shelves with her own favourite brand of shampoo. She dug up his garden, even planted those doomed roses.
The roses were cursed. It was because of the roses that Alika met Wendy.
Sure, everyone was thinking about me, but no one believed in me anymore. It was unfair.
Evelyn could sense my presence, and I made sure to haunt her as often as I could. It was lonely, though. It seemed unfair that the only person who believed in me was my own murderer. I mean, something had happened to me, at last. Something momentous. All my life Iâd been of little consequence, a nobody, a person whose very birth was accidental, a person shifted from family to family at the merest whim of circumstance. And here I was, outrageously wronged, at the very centre of a tragic drama, and nobody even knew about it.
I tried to tell Felix about it, to convince him to give up on questioning Alika, that Alika didnât know anything, and that he should question Evelyn again. But he couldnât hear me. I donât think he believed in the afterlife. He didnât seem to have any religion at all except for the bibliomancy he practised. Every morning he tossed coins on a table top and consulted the I Ching , though he didnât seem to find any answers in there about my murder. But I could tell he wasnât giving up. He spent a lot of time in his office leafing through the file that held the unfinished story of my death.
âHave you ever been to Golden?â she asked. She tried to tell him how the light hit the mountains there, but she couldnât get the words right. She sounded dumb, and Alika was growing distracted, bored with her.
Evelyn felt that old, panicky flutter in her chest, that feeling that she might crack in two. She had to get his attention, make him see her again. So she told him the story of her brother, Mark, and he listened. He was sympathetic, placing one of his large, warm hands over hers, sending a tingle through the veins of her arm into her heart. But afterwards he never called her. He didnât come back to the store for a whole week.
Evelyn knew the name of his gym from the membership card in his wallet, and she strolled up and down the sidewalk in front of it, trying to look casual, stopping for coffee in the restaurant across the road, watching the gym door through the window. When Alika came out, she ran right into him. What a surprise, he said. Of course they just had to go for coffee.
As she sat across from him in the restaurant, trying to force another coffee into her stomach, Evelyn realized Alika wasnât interested in what she was saying. When he said goodbye so easily it almost broke her heart, he made no promise to call. But she remembered where he worked, where he shopped, his home address. He had invited her to all these places by leaving his wallet on her counter.
Evelyn got up from the couch and retrieved her phone from the kitchen. Then she snuggled back under her quilt and dialled Alikaâs number. Sheâd been calling him several times a day, since she learned that Wendy was in the hospital, but she was never able to reach him. Tonight it was the same. Wendyâs voice on the answering machine. Evelyn hung up. She laid the phone on her belly and closed her eyes, losing herself again in the memory of the happiest days of her life.
One evening, a year ago last spring, Alika and Evelyn ran into each other for the sixth time. Or was it the fifth? Evelyn counted. No. It was the sixth time, and Alika had taken her to a lounge for drinks. And that night heâd taken her home. To his house. She never wanted to leave.
All last June and July, she went to his house every Friday night and spent the weekend, working at making him fall in love with her, at making his house her home. She left her toothbrush, a comb, articles of clothing. She was only waiting for the word from Alika and sheâd give up her apartment. She bought a new mat for his bathroom floor and stocked his shelves with her own favourite brand of shampoo. She dug up his garden, even planted those doomed roses.
The roses were cursed. It was because of the roses that Alika met Wendy.
Sure, everyone was thinking about me, but no one believed in me anymore. It was unfair.
Evelyn could sense my presence, and I made sure to haunt her as often as I could. It was lonely, though. It seemed unfair that the only person who believed in me was my own murderer. I mean, something had happened to me, at last. Something momentous. All my life Iâd been of little consequence, a nobody, a person whose very birth was accidental, a person shifted from family to family at the merest whim of circumstance. And here I was, outrageously wronged, at the very centre of a tragic drama, and nobody even knew about it.
I tried to tell Felix about it, to convince him to give up on questioning Alika, that Alika didnât know anything, and that he should question Evelyn again. But he couldnât hear me. I donât think he believed in the afterlife. He didnât seem to have any religion at all except for the bibliomancy he practised. Every morning he tossed coins on a table top and consulted the I Ching , though he didnât seem to find any answers in there about my murder. But I could tell he wasnât giving up. He spent a lot of time in his office leafing through the file that held the unfinished story of my death.
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