After He Killed Me Read online

  I’m about to leave, when the sales assistant asks me what I’m looking for.

  “A wig, but for a man. I mean a man’s look, but not like a pirate or a powdered, landed-gentry type, just, you know—”

  “Yes, I understand, a man’s wig,” he says. “I don’t have too many of those, but come with me.”

  There’s a row of them, on the bottom shelf against the side wall of the store. I hadn’t noticed them when I came in, but even from this distance I can tell they’re not going to be right. They’re not even close.

  “Can it be dyed?” I ask, pointing at one, thinking that since it’s all I’ve got, I’m going to have to bite the bullet and find a way to make this work.

  “Not these, they’re synthetic. Come this way.”

  I follow him to the back of the store. This part is done up like a hair salon, with large mirrors and styling chairs.

  “Over here”—he makes a sweeping gesture—“we do the full service. We fit people with the right wig, and we can cut and color it, just like real hair. Is it for you?”

  I’m about to say no, but then I change my mind.

  “Yes, I’m in a play, with my local theater group.”

  “You’re playing a man?”

  “We’re doubling up. We’re small. Amateurs, you know how it is.”

  “Can’t say that I do. What’s the play?”

  “Death of a Salesman.”

  “Should be fun.”

  “I hope so.”

  He pulls out four different wigs, each sitting atop a mannequin’s head, and puts them on the counter, one after the other.

  “If any of these are close, we can color and cut it, to match what you want. What do you have in mind?”

  “Um, Bill Clinton, twenty years younger. Slightly longer hair too. And darker.”

  “Okaaaay.” He draws out the word, as if to say, Whatever rocks your boat. “What about this?” He picks up a wig, holds it up for me to see. “If we take out a little here, and set the top there, maybe add a bit of a wave . . .”

  “Yes, I can see that. Can we make the sides a bit gray?”

  “We can, that’s no problem. Let me check the fit. Why don’t you have a seat?”

  I sit where he indicates and he puts the wig on me, shows me how to tuck my hair up into it. I look ridiculous. This is never going to work.

  “It feels a little tight,” I say.

  “It’s supposed to. You wouldn’t want it to move every time you turn around.”

  I tell him what I want, in detail. I pick the color, describe the cut. If he’s surprised by the exactitude of my requests, he doesn’t show it. I’m paying for it, so why would he care?

  “When would you like it by?” he asks, after removing it from my head.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Ah no. That’s not possible. We have orders already and—”

  “I’ll pay extra.”

  We agree on an extravagant amount of money. I give him my name (Jackie Collins—the first name that pops into my head) and I leave a hundred dollars in cash as a deposit. I also pick up a woman’s wig, a black bob with bangs: a cheaper, synthetic one for which I pay right there and then. “It’s for the other part I play,” I tell him.

  “Thank you, Ms. Collins. We’ll see you tomorrow after three o’clock.”

  It’s such a relief, but still, I’m nervous. I think maybe I haven’t given myself enough time to put this plan in motion. I haven’t thought the details through, because already, the details are bothering me. The wig: no matter how hard I try, it’s not going to be quite right.

  I decide to go and buy myself a hat, just in case. And I remind myself that there isn’t a lot of time. Jim is a loose cannon right now.

  I have to get to him before he gets to me.

  Carol wants to meet again, she says; just once more, which is worrying. Does she want to back out? Has she not been able to convince Jim?

  I went to the marina again this morning, very early, taking a jog on this sunny day; a perfect excuse, if I do say so myself. There are a couple of runners up and down the pier.

  I’ve picked out the boat. Not too big, not too small, just the right size. A catamaran with an outboard motor, that you can rent out “sans captain”—bareboat charter, they called it—and usually for two people, although they’ll accept up to two children as well, I’m told, but only if it’s for a day trip. We’re not going for a day trip. We’re doing an overnighter. And we’re certainly not bringing any children.

  We meet at Gramercy Park again. I’ve spotted a coffee shop around the corner, so I lead Carol there, wordlessly. It’s only when we’re sitting down that I ask her.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know, I—”

  “You’re not bailing on me, are you?”

  “No. No. It’s just that he’s getting worse, fast. He’s obsessed, and this plan is making me really nervous. If anything goes wrong, Emma—”

  “So don’t let anything go wrong! Christ!” I take a deep breath. Getting frustrated with Carol is not going to help at all. I need to keep it together.

  She nods. We sit huddled together, our heads close, whispering. She tells me he’s been going through her things. He’s not even hiding it anymore.

  “Give me your phone, the burner one,” I tell her, my hand outstretched.

  “No! Why?”

  “Because it’s the only evidence that can trip you up if he finds it. I’ll give it back to you tomorrow. By then you won’t have to worry anymore. Come on, Carol, give it to me.”

  It’s like I’m her mother, for God’s sake! I put the phone in my bag and take a better look at her. She’s so anxious, she’s almost quivering.

  “You need to pull yourself together, please. You’ll screw this up otherwise, do you understand? We’re almost there, Carol, okay? Just hang in there for another day.”

  She nods again. I stay with her a little longer, talking to her, talking her down from her panic. I make her recite the plan back to me again.

  When we get to the part where she has to report him missing, she blurts out, “I can’t be the one calling the cops.”

  I raise my hands in frustration. “Why not? It can’t be me, Carol, you know that! I’m not supposed to see him, or have anything to do with him! It makes no sense for me to call the cops and tell them he’s disappeared. He’s already disappeared from my life!”

  “But I’m the one who has to rent out the boat!”

  “So what?”

  She shakes her head, and there’s nothing I can say to change her mind. I start to wonder whether this is too difficult for her. I am actually considering whether to pull the plug on the whole thing.

  “What about Terry?” she asks.

  “What about him?”

  “I could send him an email, from Jim’s laptop. Say that he wants to meet him. He needs some time, but he’s ready to come back to work and sort this out. Something like that.”

  “Okay,” I say, tentatively.

  “I could schedule the meeting for Thursday. Then when Jim doesn’t show up, he’ll get worried. Maybe you could call Terry on Friday. Prompt him, you know?”

  “It’s not going to work, Carol. Terry isn’t going to report Jim missing. If you can’t go through with this, then we need to cancel the whole thing.”

  She nods, slowly.

  “Remember what we said. After we get back to shore, Jim”—and I make air quotes here—“will ask you to drop him off, and tell you he’s going to walk for a while, and he’ll see you at home later. It’s even better, don’t you see? It will look like he planned it.”

  She’s still nodding, mulling over what I’ve just said.

  “But I like the idea of Jim contacting Terry. I think you should do that anyway.”

  “Do you know Jim’s password?” she asks. “I think he’s got a password on his laptop.”

  “Sorry, you’ll have to figure this one out for yourself.”

  She starts to pick at t
he skin around her thumbnail. She’s going to come up with excuses, I can tell.

  I take her by the shoulders.

  “Make it work, Carol. Do you understand me? Otherwise you’re on your own. Is that clear?”

  She doesn’t look at me, but she nods, and takes a deep, resigned breath.

  “Okay,” I say, “let’s go over the plan again.”

  20

  I asked Carol to give me her disposable cell phone because it makes sense. It feels risky for her to carry it around. If Jim finds it, we’ll be done for. But as a result, she has no means of contacting me, so we both have to trust that everything is going according to plan.

  I get out of the LIRR station a little after 6:30 a.m. I take off my hoodie and put it in my backpack, and put my Dodgers cap on over my ponytail. I look more like Carol now, and I walk briskly toward the marina.

  I’m early, and there are a couple of joggers running up and down the pier, but that’s it. I’m carrying a midsize cooler. It’s just a prop, really; if anyone saw me, and if they were ever asked about it, I want them to think it was Carol getting organized. I’ve hopped on the boat that she has rented—and I sure hope she has, otherwise I’m well and truly trespassing. I go inside the cabin, where the long seats are. They open, and there’s a fair bit of space for storage inside, and I slip in and close the top over me.

  It stinks, it’s dark and hot, and uncomfortable. I estimate I’ll have to wait about two to three hours before they arrive.

  After thirty minutes, one arm goes to sleep. It’s just in an awkward position, but I can’t really move, and I don’t want to open the top in case they suddenly arrive. I’m getting a bit nervous. So much could go wrong. They might not even show up, although by now I’m starting to hope that will be the case.

  It’s hot. I’m sweating profusely in the small space. I check my watch. I’ve been here for three hours already. They should be here by now. I’m starting to panic. And then I hear Carol’s voice.

  “Isn’t this nice? What do you think, Jim?”

  I hear Jim say something, but I can’t quite catch it. There’s a bit of wind and he’s not talking as loudly as Carol. She needs to take it down a notch. She sounds like she’s auditioning for a part.

  They’re walking down to the cabin now. I hold my breath. There’s some activity going on—the unpacking of bags, I think. They’re so close. I can hear Jim now: “This is great, sweetheart. You’re right, it’s perfect.”

  Sweetheart.

  “Shall we get going?” she asks. “I can’t wait to get out there.”

  “Give it a minute,” he says. “I’m going to take a look around.”

  My heart skips a beat. I think, Oh God. He can’t find me. Please don’t let him find me. I fully expect Carol to say something like, “No, don’t do that, you can do that later,” but she just says, “Okay, good idea,” and it makes my heart race even faster, but I understand why. It would be suspicious if she didn’t. Then she says, “I’ll come with you.”

  I must be as quiet as possible. I must not cough or even breathe loudly. My backpack is a problem; it’s nestled against my stomach, but it takes up more space than I’d like.

  They’re back upstairs now and I can just hear them from where I am. Jim says he likes the boat. He comments on various features. Carol wants to sail it, but he disagrees. They engage in some banter about it, and I mentally take my hat off to Carol for sounding as relaxed as she does.

  Carol says she’s thirsty. She wants to go downstairs and grab some orange juice. Would Jim like some?

  It’s too early. I know what she’s doing. If he doesn’t sail off now, then she can’t wait anymore. But it’s too early. It’s too risky. Jim says no, he’s fine, maybe later, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  But they do come downstairs after all, and I press a hand on my chest to try and quiet my heart. There’s a bit more activity, and for a moment I think they’re going to have sex, right there on top of me, so to speak, and I want to throw up. But Jim goes back to the deck and Carol follows him. After what seems an eternity, I hear the whir of the motor starting, and we start to move.

  I knock my head against the side as the boat jerks backward. Eventually, the motion of the boat is smooth again. We’re going out to sea and I manage to rearrange myself and get into a more comfortable position.

  I can only hear the noise of the motor, for what seems like a long time. But then I catch the sound of their voices. I can just make out what they’re saying.

  “How far do you want to go?” Carol asks.

  “This should be good, I think, don’t you?”

  It’s hard to guess how far out we are by now, but it must be at least a couple of miles.

  “I’ll put up the sails,” Jim says.

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  There’s a lot of pulling and swearing, and the noise of flapping. The boat lurches. I can’t hear what they’re saying anymore because of the wind, but then I feel it again, and we’re on our way.

  I don’t know how long I can stay like this. There’s a cramp in my leg and I wriggle my toes, but it brings no relief. The wind has started to die down. I hear them murmuring somewhere above me, and strain to listen.

  “I think I’ll go and lie down,” Jim says. “I’m more tired than I realized.”

  No, no, don’t let him do that, Carol, please. Not on his own.

  “Stay here a while. It’s nice up here. Please?” Carol says, as if she read my mind.

  “I feel a bit woozy. I hope I haven’t lost my sea legs,” he chuckles. Carol giggles and says something I can’t quite make out.

  After that I can’t hear them anymore, just the sound of the water lapping and the wind snapping in the sails. I want to move my legs, my fingers, but I don’t dare.

  It’s silent for what feels like a long time, but when I check my watch, I see that it’s only half an hour. Then I hear something. Footsteps. Someone’s coming. They’re getting closer to me and I can’t tell if it’s Carol or Jim. Oh God, help me! My heart is pounding and I hold my breath; shut my eyes tightly.

  “Emma, are you there?”

  I exhale as Carol slowly lifts the top off the seat. She looks as scared as I am. Her hand is on her chest.

  “Oh, you’re here, thank God!” The relief in her voice is as clear as my own.

  “Can I move now?” I whisper. “Is it safe?”

  “He’s asleep,” she replies.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Okay, just stay with him. Let me get out of here.”

  She returns to the deck. I unfold myself slowly from within the seat. My body aches. I’m cold and my limbs are stiff. I bend one leg at the knee, extend it, and do the same with the other. I stand up slowly, and walk up the stairs. I can see the back of Jim’s head. The rest of him is obscured by the top of the cabin that juts out from the deck. There’s no sound. I can see the shore in the distance. The sun is still high in the sky. We’re not quite far out enough yet.

  It’s too soon.

  I stretch my muscles, getting the blood flowing back into them, sensation returning to my fingers. I rub my gloved hands together. Carol comes and stands next to me.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  I put a finger to my lips. For God’s sake! Be quiet!

  I half crouch, and slowly, silently, make my way to the front of the boat. Carol follows right behind me.

  “How many did you give him?” I whisper.

  “The whole bottle: twenty, twenty-five, I’m not sure.”

  I nod.

  “Are you sure that’s enough?” she asks.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Trust me.” I almost tell her that I’ve done this before.

  I pick up the now-empty glass of orange juice and look inside. There’s only a trace of the mushed-up pills in the bottom. Carol did well.

  “What do we do now?” Carol asks.

  “We wait.”

  “Shouldn’t we tie him
up?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t want any trace of marks on him.”

  I remain crouched down while the boat sails on. I can’t imagine that anyone could see me at this distance, but why take the chance? It takes another twenty minutes for the shore to recede to a thin line. It really does feel as if we’re in the middle of the ocean. The sun is starting its descent, the colors of the sky are changing, and I am longing for the cool of the evening. Salty wind is burning my skin. My eyes hurt.

  We don’t speak. I help Carol lift the sails so the boat slows down. I take a close look at Jim’s face. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is regular. His jaw is slack. There’s a thin line of spittle leaking out of the corner of his mouth. I nod at Carol and we begin to remove his shirt and pants and his shoes. We work silently, carefully. Once it’s done, Carol goes into the cabin to retrieve the other set of clothes she brought with her. They’re more or less the same. The polo shirt is a bit paler, but it will do, and we dress him again. We are both sweating from the exertion, and it’s only the beginning.

  We sit silently on the netted fabric between the hulls, checking on Jim occasionally, making sure the dose was enough to keep him completely out for this long. I wish she’d waited before giving him the barbiturates, but I also understand her desperation to get it over with. Carol has closed her eyes, listening to the water. We look like twins. We are wearing the same outfit, with the same cap on, just like we discussed. If anyone saw me this morning, they would have seen her instead, preparing for their trip before coming back with Jim.

  “Ready?” I whisper.

  She nods, opens her eyes, steeling herself. We take down the sails together, then lower the anchor. Then we go back to Jim, positioning ourselves. She takes his legs and I slip my arms under his armpits.

  We manage to raise him up, but it’s not enough. He’s too heavy, so we lay him down on the deck. “It’s not going to work,” I say. “We need to find another way.”

  “Let’s roll him sideways, push him over the side,” Carol says.

  I see where she’s going, and it’s a good idea. We manage to twist his body so that it’s parallel to the edge and then we’re on our knees, side by side, half sliding, half rolling his body across the deck until finally, with a grunt and all our determination combined, we push him overboard.