Black Widow (20 page)

Now.

After he gets up, I quietly dress, making sure not to look at him as I say, “Thanks for last night and this morning.”

“Wait, don’t leave like this,” he pleads.

I don’t stop or turn around. I walk out as fast as I can.

Thank God my workload is light today because there is no way I could go to work right now. My head is rocked from what just happened and how it made me feel so as soon as I’m in my car, I pick up my phone to call Becca, needing to talk through what happened last night and this morning. On my screen I notice there’s a text from her that came in last night:

Becca: Hey girl! I saw you wrapped up in Eros and didn’t want to bother you so I decided to go back to my place. I’m sure everything’s fine by now. Starbucks in the morning?

I try to call but when she doesn’t answer I drive to her place and knock on her door but there’s no answer there either. I try to call her phone again but still no answer. Looking at my phone I see it’s 8:30 in the morning so maybe she’s still asleep. I take out my key she gave me to her place and let myself in. I need to talk and I have no problem waking her up to do so.

Not paying attention, I walk through her door, calling, “Becca. Are you asleep? Sorry, but I need to talk.”

I shut the door, mindlessly locking it like I do every time I enter a home before I turn around, letting out a scream that crushes my soul to the core.

I run over to Becca who’s lying on the floor, bleeding everywhere. Grabbing her shoulders, I lift her head to my lap, shaking her, trying to wake her up, touching her everywhere, trying to do something, anything.

There is so much blood. She’s still in the same clothes she had on last night but her entire body is covered and I can’t tell where the blood is coming from. Screaming at her, I beg for her to wake up, crying as I shake her harder.

I scream, “HELP,” at the top of my lungs, not having a clue what’s going on but no one can hear me. Reaching for my phone, I dial 911.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“My friend. She’s bleeding. I don’t know what happened. Please, come. Help me!” I’m starting to hyperventilate.

“Try to breathe. What’s your address?”

I give them the address as she tries to talk me through mouth to mouth. I’m going through the motions but there’s just too much blood. The dispatcher keeps asking me if I know who could have hurt her but I really have no clue. How could I not know anything really about her? We’ve spent all this time together yet I know nothing about her past, her family or any other friends.

“I don’t know,” I scream as more tears run down my face. “I found her like this in her apartment. She’s not responding. Please help!”

She stays on the phone with me waiting for an ambulance to arrive. I’m screaming Becca’s name, crying into her face as she lays limp in my lap. I know deep down she’s dead but I don’t want to believe it yet.

I’ve been here before though.

I wait, praying, saying over and over, “Please, please make her ok.”

I feel like I’m in a nightmare. I’ve already lived through something like this with Nick and here I am holding the lifeless body of the closest person in my life on my lap. Again.

I hear the paramedics arrive and someone removes me from the scene but I’m in such a fog that I have no clue what’s actually happening. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m going to be sick.

I run to the bathroom and do just that, throwing up and barely making it to the toilet.

How can this be happening? To me? To her? Again?

The next hour is a complete whirlwind of people asking me questions that I don’t know the answer to. I’m limp, lifeless, sitting on her couch, watching helplessly as they zip my best friend up in a bag and roll her out of her apartment.

M
y head has been a cluster fuck ever since I watched Eurydice walk out the door after I made love to her this morning. I’d like to say I fucked her but I didn’t. That was something different and fuck me, it felt so good.

Then she just got up and left without another word. I left the club after she did, wanting to get out of there and rid any memories of what just happened. If only it could have been that easy.

As soon as I started my Tesla,
Comatose
by Skillet blared over my speakers with its violin intro and my chest instantly ached when I heard him talking about how she takes the pain away and waking up to her never felt so real. The entire song sent my head into a spinning frenzy. I don’t want to have these feelings but fuck, I feel like I need her like I need air.

My day sucked worse than it has in years and now I’ve been sitting here at Bridge, waiting for either her or Becca to show up tonight and both of them are a no show.

I tried to call Becca today, just needing to talk to her but she didn’t answer, which is not like her. I’m afraid she’s upset with me, too. I feel like I might have crossed a line. Broke my own no emotions rule with this place and I hope Becca’s not mad at me, too.

That would just blow. She’s been a good friend to me through this journey. She’s helped me achieve my goals of this place and we’ve spent a good amount of time together doing so. I’d like to say she’s my girl best friend, however lame that sounds. I just hope I didn’t fuck that up as well.

It’s midnight and I’m finally giving up. They aren’t showing so I’m out of here.

Once I’m home, I drink myself into a drunken, self-loathing stupor and pass out on my couch.

I’m awoken to someone banging on my door the next morning, yelling, “Police, open up!”

My mind is spinning and with each pound on my door, my heads screams in pain. I stumble to the door, bracing myself against the frame, opening it to see three policemen standing guard.

Instantly I stand up, “Can I help you?”

“Are you Preston Babcock?”

“Yes, that’s me. What’s going on?”

“Will you please turn around and place your hands behind your back? You’re under arrest for the murder of Rebecca Anderson.”

“Wait, WHAT? I’m What? What are you talking about? What happened to Becca? Murder? Is she ok?”
No, no. This can’t be happening. Where’s Becca?

“Sir, don’t make us get rough with you. Put your hands behind your back.”

“Rough with me? What’s going on? Why am I being arrested?”

“Sir, don’t resist arrest.”

“What? Will you please explain to me what’s going on?”

“You’re being arrested for the murder of Rebecca Anderson.”

“Murder! I didn’t murder anyone. What’s going on? What happened to Becca?”

Before I know it, I’m thrown on the ground with my arms being pulled from, what feels like, their sockets and handcuffed behind me.

“Now stand up!” the police officer yells as they pull me up, force me out of my apartment and down the front steps of my complex.

Thankfully, my neighbor is just walking in the building, “John, John, please help me. Call my office. Get a hold of my assistant through the emergency line and have her call my lawyer.”

He walks up to me, “What’s going on?”

“I have no clue. I know I’m innocent though. Call my assistant. Please!”

“You got it man.”

They tuck my head into the back of the cop car and drive away as I drop my head down to the headrest.

This cannot be happening.

I’m placed in a room with a table in the middle and chairs on either side where I sit in silence, waiting for a detective to come in.

“Well, well, well,” I hear a man enter the room from behind me. “Did you really think you would get away with it?”

“Look, there has been some kind of mistake. Why am I here and what has happened to Becca?”

“Well, why don’t you tell me what happened to
Becca
?”

“I have no clue. Someone said murder. Please don’t tell me something has happened to her.”

“Look, drop the shit. You’re screwed. We have your fingerprints all over the room and I bet once we get a sample from you we’ll find that it’s your semen we found with the rape kit, too.”

“Rape kit? Fingerprints? What are you talking about? I have no clue what’s going on. And where is my attorney?”

“Fine. We’ll wait for your attorney to show up but your ass is mine. Evidence is evidence buddy. Facts are facts.”

He gets up and walks out of the room, leaving me alone again with my thoughts.
How can Becca be dead? What happened? And how am I being blamed for this?

An hour later my attorney walks through the door, sitting in front of me with a sad look on his face.

“Frank, lay it out straight to me, what’s going on?” I ask.

“Preston, it’s not looking good. Don’t say anything until I get you out of here.”

“But that’s the thing, Frank. I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Just keep quiet. I posted your bail and they should be coming in here soon to let you go. We will talk once we get back to my office.”

I sigh heavily.
Why doesn’t anybody want to listen to me? I’m innocent!

I spent all day and night in jail and was finally released this morning. Thankfully, my attorney, Frank, is a friend of mine for the last 20 years so, even though it’s Sunday, we’re sitting at his desk going over everything.

He shuts the door behind him as he walks into his office, handing me a glass with dark liquid and one ice cube. “Here, I think you need this.”