Catalyst (19 page)

****

When Courtney saw the nametag and walked up to Ken
Freidhurst in the tutorial room, he was completely different from
her mental image of a short runt of a kid in horn-rimmed glasses.
The youth was well over six feet tall, slim, had a mop of dark hair
above a clean-shaven face and was dressed in casual clothes.

"Hi Ken," she said in an unusual husky voice. "I'm
Courtney Howlett, your new buddy. I guess you were given my
name."

Ken nodded. "Hello Courtney." He waved at the guide
sheet all the students had been given. "I guess we'd better get on
with it."

They sat at a table and went through the questions.
After ten minutes Courtney threw her hands up in horror. "What a
load of old crap," she said in exasperation. "This is worse than
back at school." She shoved her paper over at the boy. "Look, fill
in the bits about yourself that you want to tell me and I'll do the
same with your paper and let's talk about something
interesting."

"Like what?" Ken replied in a hesitant voice.

"Hell, I don't know," Courtney retorted. "What do you
like in life?"

"Cars, computers, hiking..."

"Well, that's a start. Have you seen Lem's Cadillac?
He's my best friend's partner."

"That pearl white one that cruises in on wet
mornings?" Ken's eyes lit up.

"Yeah." Courtney laughed. "Lem drops me off on wet
days." She shrugged. "That's most days at this time of the year,
isn't it? What sort of car have you got?"

"An old Mustang. It's bit of a heap but all I can
afford. I'm fixing it up."

"Oh, my God. I love Mustangs." Actually, she wouldn't
know one if she tripped over it.

Ken glanced at her and broke into a smile. "You're
different from what I expected."

"How?"

"Just different. The girls here talk about designer
clothes, labels and boys."

Courtney tossed back her blonde hair and studied her
fellow student. For a male, he seemed pleasant. "Is your Mustang
out in the lot, Ken?"

"Yeah. Do you want to see it?"

"I'd love to." Courtney gathered up their
questionnaires only half completed, tossed them on the lecturer's
desk and headed for the door. "You'll get wet." Ken towered above
her.

"Who cares," Courtney said with a shrug. "I've got a
jacket."

****

After that day, Courtney found she enjoyed Ken
company and along with Linda they spent hours together doing things
teenagers enjoy. It was a loose arrangement with no demands.
Courtney had no idea what Ken's problems were, nor did she tell him
of her own. They were friends who trusted society again.

One evening Renee returned home from work to find it
was Linda cooking supper, while Ken chatted with Lem about a new
computer software program and Courtney was on her bed reading. Lem
and Renee's apartment became home for them all and a place to hang
out away from the sterile dormitory of Northeast Community College
where the other two lived.

"The apartment's getting too small," Lem shouted
later that night above the roar of heavy rock music screaming from
the living room compact disk quad speakers. "I had forgotten how
much space teenagers take over."

"So you'd rather be by yourself in your solitary
apartment," Renee said and flung her arms around his neck.

"I didn't say that," Lem replied and kissed her salty
lips. "But there must be a happy medium somewhere. What I need is
my house back. Perhaps I could do a straight swap with Nikki."

****

CHAPTER
17

The woman placed the camcorder on a tripod, adjusted
the lens to view the living room couch and set a ten second delay.
She squinted through the viewfinder one more time and limped to the
seat as recording began.

Nikki Erksberg rubbed her hand over a blackened eye,
down a broken cheekbone and fingered a cut lip. But she was
determined and for perhaps the first time in a week, cold
sober.

"Lem," she said and wiped her bloody lip again. "This
video is to right some of the wrongs and to explain. I hope you
forgive me, even though I find it hard to forgive myself." She
swallowed, pushed back a strand of hair and gazed at the green
light of the camcorder. "I look a sight, don't I? Patrick
McQuilkin's threats turned into reality, I'm afraid. Last night he
attacked me." Her lip quivered and she held her blouse up to show a
dark blue rib cage. "His boot caused that," she whispered and
continued speaking in short sentences to describe the violent
beating.

"I have two weeks to find another hundred thousand
dollars, or he'll come back and finish the job." She coughed,
extracted a handkerchief and wiped blood from her lip, before her
eyes focused on the lens. "But he won't ever touch me again, Lem, I
can assure you that.

"'What happened?' you may ask. It was only a few days
after I moved in with this monster that I found he was not the man
I thought. I tried to cope in my usual way and gambled my savings
away and more. Patrick paid my debts but after we broke up,
demanded his money back. I never had the money, Lem. The extra I
received when you bought out my shares in the factory would have
just about cleared them."

Nikki attempted to smile but it became a scowl.
"However, as you know, there was that shortfall when the value
dropped. I blamed you at the time but now realize it was beyond
your control. I would never have sold to Allied Pacific
Manufacturing. I love our company too much to throw everything
away. So what have I done? I declared myself bankrupt, so this
wonderful house my video is being filmed in, the home we built
together, is safe. I also updated my will. The house is yours, Lem,
along with the few other personal items I still own. The necklace
Patrick tried to get back was given to me. If you ever find it, it
comes under the personal property category in the bankruptcy act,
so he can't touch it…"

The woman continued speaking in a clear, precise
voice with only brief stops to sip from a small glass of water or
dab her bleeding lip. Finally, she smiled at the camera. "Have a
good life, Lem. Renee, if you're watching this video, look after
him. He is a wonderful man. I found that out when it was too late.
I love you, Lem and always did. Please forgive me for what I am
about to do but I don't want to carry on."

Nikki clicked the remote, the green light darkened
and her repose dissolved. With tears streaming down her swollen
face she stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet.

Shaking hands found the last bottle of gin, two
mouthfuls were gulped down and she went to complete her assignment.
She reached for a tiny sheet of scented yellow paper, wrote a brief
note to Lem and tucked it in with the original video.

It was done.

Nikki put on a thick coat, gloves and a scarf. She
methodically checked the house, set the alarm, locked the door and
walked out to her car that waited in the drive.

Without looking back, she drove down the road,
dropped her two packages off at a mailbox and headed for the
interstate. It was a clear, cold afternoon and the winter sun
dazzled her eyes, as she turned west. Nikki shrugged. One more
inconvenience wouldn't affect her much longer.

****

She took the interchange from I-5 to I-90 over the
floating bridge and headed east out of Seattle. Once a dozen miles
beyond the urban area, traffic thinned sufficiently for her to
achieve her objective.

She wiped her painful eye, reached for that
ever-faithful bottle of gin and took one last mouthful. For a
moment she savored the rich, tantalizing taste and swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Lem," she said as she pulled to the fast
lane and accelerated.

The modern automobile held the road well but floated
when the speedometer touched ninety-five. In her last warped piece
of determination, the woman wanted to reach a hundred. Her eyes
glued on the road ahead and the dial edged over… ninety-eight,
ninety-nine. Yes, one hundred.

A twenty-six-wheeled semi-unit swept into view on the
adjacent lane. This would do.

Without hesitation Nikki Erksberg swung her vehicle
across the lane, the outside wheels lifted and dropped with a
shudder but she gripped the steering wheel and maintained
control.

The huge silver vehicle towered in front. Nikki
laughed in that last microsecond of her life when she noticed the
speedometer hover on one hundred and five. Methodically, she
steered the auto into the rear of the Mack semitrailer.

****

Lem answered the door of his apartment to find two
police officers standing in the foyer.

"Mr. Lem Erksberg?"

"Yes, Officer," Lem replied with anxiety. Renee still
had not arrived home from Mount Vernon and ominous visions raced
through his mind.

"Can we come inside, Lem?" The second officer, a
woman about Renee's age spoke in a quiet professional voice.

"Of course." Lem showed the pair to the living room
where Courtney was lying on her stomach surrounded by assignments.
She glanced at the uniformed officers and paled.

"You can talk in front of Courtney," Lem whispered.
"In fact, I would like to have her here, if that is possible."

The policeman looked at the girl and his colleague
and nodded. "There's been an accident on I-90 involving a member of
your family, sir."

Courtney gave a stifled gasp and Lem stood rigid.
Thoughts evolved faster than words possibly could. The police
officer's sentence was diagnosed and filtered, while adrenalin
erupted in his veins and his heartbeat tripled. I-90, the words
screamed in Lem's mind. Why would Renee be on the wrong side of the
city? He hardly heard the rest of the conversation.

"Your wife, Lem" the policewoman said.

"My wife." Lem's voice shook as he stepped back,
found an armchair and fell back into it. "You say my wife?"

"A woman we believe was Mrs. Nikki Erksberg was
killed when her vehicle collided with a semitrailer, fourteen miles
east of the city. We need you to come and identify her body."

Nikki! She said Nikki…not Renee. Lem's drained face
quivered and he found Courtney's wide relieved eyes looking into
his.

"It's Nikki, not Renee," she said.

"Yes," Lem replied in a monotone. He turned to the
police officers. "Yes, I'll come with you." He turned to Courtney.
"Will you stay here and tell Renee when she arrives?"

"Sure, Lem. You go ahead."

"Lem should be back within the hour," the policewoman
said kindly. "Would you like me to stay with you?"

"No," Courtney replied. "I'll be fine. Renee is due
home soon."

"Right," Lem said. He placed a hand on the girl's
shoulder, squeezed it and followed the officers out of the
apartment.

****

When Lem arrived home an hour and a half later he was
met in the main foyer by Renee, her blue eyes filled with
compassion. She walked up, slipped her arms under his, kissed him
and thanked the officers for their help.

"Courtney told me," she said and held the trembling
man, while he kissed the top of her hair and clutched her so
tightly she could barely breathe.

"And was it Nikki?"

Lem nodded but could not bring himself to talk. His
face was pallid and shoulders slumped as he rubbed his stubble chin
into his lover's soft face and kissed her again.

"Come on, Sweetheart," Renee said. "Courtney has the
elevator waiting. You know, she's prepared a meal for us."

"Bad, was it?" Courtney asked as Renee guided Lem
into the elevator.

"Terrible," Lem muttered. "Far worse than anything I
imagined. I could recognize only her hair and shape of her face…the
rest was…" He swayed and only Renee's hug stopped him from
falling.

"It's okay, Sweetheart," she whispered. "Don't talk
about it."

When they reached the apartment, Lem attempted to
smile at Courtney but he reacted to the vision of the remains of
his wife and nausea swept over him.

"Excuse me." He gulped and rushed to the
bathroom.

"Here sip this," Renee whispered a moment later and
handed him a glass of wine. She held him in her arms until a he
felt a little better and he told of the terrible mangled body that
was once Nikki.

****

When the video arrived in the following day's mail,
Lem read Nikki's note but refused to watch the tape until Renee
arrived.

The pair discreetly waited until Courtney went out
with Linda and Ken before they watched the video in grim silence.
At the conclusion, Lem turned the machine off and though it was
close to freezing outside, walked to the apartment's balcony. Renee
followed to comfort him.

"It was like a ghost talking to me," he stated after
Renee persuaded him to return to the warmth of the apartment. "I
saw her battered body yesterday and today she was talking to me.
She looked terrible but she was alive. If only she had sent the
tape first and waited, I could have helped her." He swung around.
"Why didn't I help her when she came pleading to me? I could have
paid her debts and found the necklace. She could still be alive
right now."

"You don't know that," Renee replied. "You may have
prevented it, or she may have done it in a week or a month. Don't
blame yourself."

She placed an arm on Lem's shoulder but he did not
turn as he usually did to hug her. Instead he stared at the
darkened television screen in silence.

"She may have been drunk," Renee persisted.

"No, Sweetheart," Lem said and held Renee's hand.
"She had alcohol in her bloodstream but it was below the legal
limit, enough to indicate she was not drunk. It was suicide and not
an accident."

"How do you know?"

"The police said there were no skid marks behind the
semitrailer. Her car ran straight into the rear at such a speed the
momentum carried it into the rear axle." He turned and his voice
broke. "The police said she would have been dead before the wheels
squashed the car. She was barely recognizable, Renee but came back
again on this video."