Never Knowing (28 page)

Billy was the one who usually hung out at the house during the day, which was
not
helping my relationship. A couple of times Evan walked by when I was grilling Billy about the case or his theories on John, and Evan got this
look
. One night after he went to bed, Billy and I stayed up talking about different cases he’d worked on. When I finally crawled into bed Evan rolled over and put his back to me. I asked what was wrong—twice—and he said, “I don’t like how friendly you’re getting with Billy.”

“Um, he’s staying in our house. What am I supposed to do, ignore him?”

“He’s a cop. He’s supposed to be professional, not chatting up my fiancée.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. We were talking about old cases.”

“I don’t like the guy.”

“That’s obvious—you were rude to him at dinner.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll get the hint and go sit in the fucking squad car.”

“I can’t believe you’re being such a jerk. He’s like a
brother
to me, Evan.”

“Just go to sleep, Sara.”

This time I turned my back on him.

*   *   *

Part of me sees Evan’s point—can’t say I’d like it if he started hanging out with Sandy all the time—but I meant what I said: Billy’s become like an older brother to me, a
really
protective older brother who carries a gun. One time when I had to meet him at the station I saw him walking a woman to her car. As she got in I caught a glimpse of her bruised face. When I asked Billy about her, he shook his head and said, “Another abusive husband on a bender.”

“Was she getting a restraining order?”

He snorted. “Yeah, but they’re a waste of paper. Half of the abusers go after the women anyway. And they usually get away with it.” He stared at the woman’s car as it drove off. “She’ll end up in the hospital next time. Her husband needs a taste of his own medicine.”

Something in his voice prompted me to ask, “Have you ever done that? Taken things into your own hands?”

He turned to me, his face serious. “Are you asking if I’ve broken the law?”

I tried to laugh off my impulsive question, then said, “I don’t know, I can see you as the masked crusader type.”

He looked down the road again. “‘The skillful strategist cultivates the way and preserves the law, thus he is master of victory and defeat.’” He turned to me. “Come on, let’s get a coffee.”

Even though Billy blew off the question with yet another quote, I had a feeling he might have done a little street justice in his time. It doesn’t bother me if he did. In fact, I like it. That’s the kind of person I want on my side. He told me once he’s still close to a few victims he worked with, that for him “the case doesn’t stop until someone’s behind bars or dead.” I hope he adds John to that list—in either category.

There was a call on my cell this morning, but it only rang twice, then stopped. Not that I was going to pick it up anyway—I’d already told Sandy I’m not answering if John calls again. I thought they’d give me a hard time, but they both kept their opinions to themselves. They probably think I’ll change my mind. Not a chance. The number was from a pay phone near Williams Lake, so it looks like he’s off-island. Maybe I well and truly pissed him off this time and I won’t ever hear from him again.

I wonder what that would be like after so long. Will I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder? Waiting for the phone to ring? Can something like this ever really be over?

SESSION FIFTEEN

When I got home from our last appointment Evan told me he’d decided to stay for the weekend. I wondered if his decision was motivated more by concern about Billy than about John, but it was nice having him home for a change. Not that it helped me get anything done. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up a tool and just set it back down. Most of the day I just sit at my computer.

Now I’m resorting to Googling things like “how to know if you’re being followed” or “self-defense moves that could save your life.” One article had suggestions for what to do if you’re attacked by a serial killer or rapist, like fighting back or screaming. It even listed what might trigger each one. But it seems like the only way of knowing for sure which kind you’ve got on your hands, or rather has his hands on you, is when you’ve messed up and he’s killing you.

I still printed everything out—just in case. Then I added the pages to the enormous file I’ve already got going for all my other John stuff. I’ve been keeping a logbook, back from when he first started calling. I make note of the time of day he calls, his moods, tone of voice, speech patterns,
anything.

When I’m not Googling, I’m e-mailing Billy little
How’s it going out there?
messages. He always answers back. Sometimes just,
Don’t worry.
Or
Hang in there, I’ll call later and touch base.
Evan would freak if he knew how much we’re in contact. I don’t like doing it behind his back but I can’t explain why I need the reassurance, at least not in a way Evan would understand. He’s great at shaking me out of my funks and balancing the roller coaster of emotions I’m generally on. But that’s when I’m operating at a level five. Once I’ve hit ten, all his just-don’t-think-about-it advice pisses me off. Billy’s we’ve-got-it-under-control attitude is what I need.

Last Friday night was brutal. Even though Evan was home and I hadn’t heard from John since Monday, I didn’t feel any more relaxed. My cell phone was quiet, but my mind was
loud
. All the books say that serial killers can be super impulsive. If John gets an urge to talk he just might pick up the phone regardless of how angry he is, just to tell me how angry he is. Or he might decide to do it in person. But the thing is, people of John’s type—
my
type—are just as obsessive as they are impulsive. What kept me up all night was wondering what was keeping
him
up. Then on Saturday morning the calls started again.

*   *   *

My cell rang while we were making breakfast—well, Evan was making it, I was talking and getting in the way. The number was new, but the area code was still for BC.

Evan said, “Don’t answer it.”

“It’s a different number.”

He turned back to the stove. “If it’s not him, they’ll leave a message.” They didn’t. “They” called back three more times—always stopping after the fourth ring. Halfway through setting the table, I was frozen with a fork in my hand, waiting for the phone to ring again.

Evan glanced over his shoulder. “Just turn it off.”

Moments before, I’d been thinking how glad I was Sandy and Billy were gone so I could have Evan all to myself, but now I wished they were here so they could tell me what to do. All my tough talk—and resolve—about ignoring John was slipping away.

I said, “But what if he has another girl?”

Evan spun around with the spatula in his hand. “Turn off the phone, Sara.”

I stared at him as it rang again.

Eggs sizzled in the frying pan behind Evan as he said, “I thought you said you were done.”

“But what if he has someone or he’s at a campsite and—”

“If you don’t talk to him, he can’t manipulate you.”

Ally came around the corner. “What stinks?”

Evan spun back around. “Christ, the eggs.” As he moved the pan to another burner he looked back over his shoulder. “Do whatever you want, Sara. But you know exactly what’s going to happen.”

I turned off the phone and set it on the table.

Evan grabbed my hand. “It’s the only way you’re going to get your life back.” I sat down, pulling a squirming Ally into my lap and burying my face in her hair, feeling sick with dread—and guilt. Whose life had I just destroyed?

*   *   *

After we drove Ally to Meghan’s we came home and Evan did some work around the house. I finally finished the headboard I’d been struggling with, but it felt like climbing uphill with rocks tied to my ankles. Billy had phoned to tell me John called from a pay phone near Lillooet, about three hours south of his last call—and three hours from Vancouver. While I worked I kept wondering if while I was sanding something John was looking for his next victim.

The police have a patrol car cruising by Ally’s school at all her breaks. The teacher thinks I’m involved in a bitter custody battle with her real father—luckily I never told the teacher he’s dead—but I wondered if I should’ve kept Ally home. Evan and I had talked about it but decided we should keep things as normal as possible for her. The trick was keeping
me
as normal as possible. I’ve run an inch below manic for most of my life, revving into high gear at a moment’s notice, but now? I don’t even know what normal is anymore.

*   *   *

When Evan and I stopped for lunch, I tried to look interested as he told me how he’d reorganized the woodshed, but he noticed I was picking at my sandwich.

He said, “Why don’t you go see Lauren for a bit?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “We haven’t talked much lately because I feel like I’m lying all the time. And I haven’t told anyone you’re home. They’ll wonder why I didn’t mention it.”

“Just tell them I had a cancellation and wanted to spend some time with you so we could get some wedding stuff done.”

“God, the wedding. We still have to order the cake, the flowers, rent your tux, get the wine, make the labels.” I threw my hands into the air. “We still haven’t even sent invitations.”

“It’s going to be fine, Sara.”

“The wedding’s in three and a half months, Evan. How is that fine?”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Bridezilla, you might want to be a little nicer to the groom.”

I sighed. “Sorry.”

“What’s the biggest thing on your list?”

“I don’t know.… The invitations, I guess.”

He thought for a moment. “You go visit Lauren, and I’ll find a template for a cover e-mail and update the site. When you get back we’ll fine-tune it, then tomorrow we can go through our e-mail addresses and send the link out.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“Once the invites are out there … I don’t know, maybe you’re right. What if things get worse with John and—”

Evan said, “They’re not going to. He’s out of our lives. And you’re going to keep him out, right?” I nodded. “So unless you’re having second thoughts about marrying me?”

I tapped my chin. “Hmm … let me think.”

He grabbed my hair and pulled my face close for a kiss.

“I’m not letting you get away. Not when there’s a cop waiting to take my place.”

I smacked his shoulder. “Billy doesn’t like me that way. And right now he probably hates me for screwing their case up.”

Evan just grunted and said, “Good. Now go see your sister.”

*   *   *

When I got home—feeling a lot better about life after inhaling half a dozen of Lauren’s peanut butter cookies and a whole pot of coffee—Evan told me he’d gotten a couple of calls from the lodge. I said I was worried about him losing business, he said he was more worried about losing me.

Once John realized I wasn’t going to answer my cell phone he tried the landline a couple of times. When Ally came home she wondered why we weren’t picking it up, so we told her that it was just salespeople and she was
not
to answer it. We turned the ringer off at night and gave the police Evan’s cell number because my cell was also off. John tried a couple more times on Sunday. All the calls came from around Cache Creek, and I felt safer knowing where he was, or at least the general area, but Evan said it just made me more insane trying to predict his next move. He had a point. I agreed to call the phone company on Monday to change our number. Then I got the e-mail Sunday night.

*   *   *

Evan was about to show me the wedding Web site he’d spent all weekend updating when I decided to check my e-mail. As soon as I saw the address [email protected] I knew it was from John. The message was in all caps.

SARA,

THE PRESSURE IS BAD. I NEED YOU.

JOHN

The walls of my office closed in as I stared at my screen. Behind me Evan was talking, but I couldn’t make sense of the words. My body felt hot all over, my legs heavy with dread.

Evan said, “What’s wrong?”

“John just e-mailed.”

Evan spun his chair around, asked me something else I didn’t catch. I opened the window above my desk, needing air, but I still felt like I was suffocating. Billy, I had to get in touch with Billy. I forwarded the e-mail and he called right away to say the RCMP would try to find out where John had sent it from, but I was sure he’d used a public computer.

When I showed Evan the e-mail he told me to just ignore it. I tried to focus on the wedding site, but I couldn’t get John’s words out of my head.

I said, “What if he kills someone?”

“The police have warnings out to all the campsites. But he’s going to end up killing
you
if you keep communicating with him, Sara.” He scrolled through another page on the Web site. “Come on, this will take your mind off it. See, I changed the format and added our horoscopes and links to a map—there’s a little quiz too. And people can RSVP right online.”

“That’s cool—and thanks for trying to distract me. But not communicating with John is what’s pushing him over the edge.”

“So let him get pissed off. I’m here, the house is wired, and we have cops patrolling by. If you’re going to talk to him at all, that’s what you should tell him—that the police know he’s been contacting you and they’ll catch him if he steps foot on the island again.”

“That might make him go totally ballistic.”

Evan turned from the screen. “What do
you
want to do, Sara?”

“I just want this to all go away.”

“Then let the police do their job.”

“But they can only do so much and I can’t stand not knowing what he’s doing.”

“Sara, if you talk to him, I’m going to be really pissed off.”

“Now
you’re
threatening me? That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair that I have to worry about you. You said you were done.”