Chapter XVII
MAE HAD RETURNED home to a cold, gloomy house.
As she peered around, she felt the cavernous walls mocking her loneliness with their eerie echoes.
She pulled out her old valise that had once held all of her worldly possessions on the day she had moved with Henry to this home.
Looking around, she saw all the little bits of life that they had collected over the years.
The matching chest of drawers and armoire, the linens that graced their marriage bed for the last decade and a half, the lace curtain set that she had laundered religiously to keep them looking their very best. She let her fingers run slowly over the bedspread, letting the familiarity of the soft material soothe her loneliness.
After bathing, she placed the watch lovingly on her dresser as she filled her suitcase with her spare clothes.
The placement of each item deposited in rhythm with the ticking of the watch provided a welcome cadence in the otherwise soundless house.
She opened and closed her dresser drawers unnecessarily to hear the conventional sounds that had once provided a cadence to her ordinary life.
She moved to the armoire and opened its plain, unadorned door.
Inside, Henry's possessions sat as they always had, neatly folded and in their unvarying place.
Leaning into the folds of the garments she breathed in deeply.
The old familiar smells of him tingled up her nostrils, and warmth spread out from her chest. She let herself linger for a moment and soak in the comfort of his scent.
Tiny rivulets dripped down her cheeks and moistened the starched clothing, creating ripples in the previously stiffened fabric.
The gong of the clock interrupted her brief respite, and she opened the small drawer to remove the remaining portion of savings.
Money meant to provide a future for their son, now to be used to preserve the mere custody of their son.
She held the inadequate sum in her hand and placed it all in her reticule.
She moved into Simon's room, bringing the watch with her and setting it on his dresser to repeat the routine.
As she entered the room, the streetlight shone through the window and onto his empty bed.
She scratched the match while her fingers found the gas key.
A faint hiss came to her ears as she brought the flame to the tip.
The whooshing sound as the gas caught bounced around the void.
Moving toward his small chest of drawers, she tried to determine which items to bring for him.
The first drawer slid stiffly from the chest, and the haphazard pile of clothing pulled her lips to the side in a grin.
How many times had she refolded his clothes to lay flat in these drawers?
She plucked the top shirt from the pile and laid it on the bed.
She smoothed the material out in long strokes to lessen the wrinkles.
As she refolded each piece of clothing, she replaced some into the drawer and left some out to pack into her valise.
He would need a change of clothes when she reached him.
The light flickered and created a strobe effect on the bed.
She walked toward the window and looked out.
There weren’t as many people out at this hour as most would be preparing dinner or spending the evening inside with their families.
A man marched briskly down Columbus Avenue, his head down and braced against the brisk wind.
He tucked his briefcase under one arm, allowing him to jam his hands into his coat.
She followed his movement along the block until her eyes were drawn to a glowing dot across the street in the alleyway between the houses.
She squinted slightly to discern what it was.
The dot moved up and down every few seconds before it dawned on her that it was the end of a cigarette.
Strange that anyone would loiter in the alley on such a cold night…
Her breath wheezed in as she backed away from the window and pressed her back against the wall.
Her mind immediately shot to the man outside the funeral parlor. Was it the same man?
She edged the curtain to the side and peered out again.
The dot was still glowing steadily across the street.
The ticking of the mantel clock drilled into her head, the sound acting like a bellow, creating the rise and fall of her chest. As a gust of wind rattled the window pane, some of the air stole through the poorly framed edges and caused the delicate lace curtain to billow slightly.
Motionless, she held the edge of the lace with her pinky and surveyed the street again.
At this late hour, there wasn’t much bustle on the residential street.
Looking down the row of houses, many had lights on in the bottom floors.
A few even had some lights on in the second floor.
Her eyes returned to the dot. It flicked to the ground and disappeared.
Her eyes tried to focus on the spot in the dark.
She could make out a shape in the stray light from the streetlamp, but otherwise, the shadows were winning their game of hide and seek.
Blood drained from her hand, which was still cocked at an awkward angle, as she tried to pull her gaze from the spot.
Tingling was forming in the tips of her fingers, but something was drawing her to the stillness.
Just as she was about to turn, a flash of light illuminated the shape she had been so desperately trying to make out.
The solid figure of a man came into view.
She couldn’t make out any distinct features barring the felt cap that sat atop his head.
She sucked in a breath, and the tingling in her fingers spread like ice through her veins.
Then, just like that, the light was gone, replaced by a small glowing dot.
She dropped the lace back into place and flattened her back against the cold plaster wall.
She glanced down at Simon's bed; the clothes lay primly about, the drawer still hanging agape.
The soft scratching sound of mice retreating in the wall rasped behind her head.
Had she locked the door? Her eyes darted to the hallway.
She retrieved the watch and slipped it over her head before she inched along the wall to the door, trying to hide from the damning illumination given off by the gas lamp.
As she crept through the room and slipped out the door, a sharp clang assaulted her ears.
She leapt forward and threw herself out of the room.
Another clang reverberated through the house before she realized that it was the echoey noise of the mantel clock sounding the hour.
Still, she dashed through to the kitchen to check the lock on the back door.
Her trembling hand came down hard against the lock.
The blunt movement satisfied her frazzled mind that it was indeed locked.
Charging back through the sitting room, she applied the same treatment to the front door lock.
She sagged down against the frame, and her mind raced to the ramifications of this new information.
Her mind tried to rationalize the coincidence of a felt hat-wearing man showing up three times in the last two days, but she couldn’t make these puzzle pieces fit together.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she closed her eyes, trying to recall the features of this mystery man.
After leaving the funeral parlor, she had bumped into him, but besides the smell of cigarettes and his calm, monotone voice, she couldn’t bring any facial features to mind.
She glanced around her. Hefting herself from the floor, she scurried down the stairs, catching her hand on the exposed screw of the newel post. Bringing her palm to her mouth, she sucked on her palm to staunch the flow of blood.
In the kitchen, she opened the drawer and removed the butcher knife.
The smooth wooden handle slid into the crease of her other palm.
She stood silently and allowed her head to spin from the door down the hallway, gauging the quiet stillness of the room.
The light. She must switch off the light in Simon's room.
She forced her leaden feet to move forward.
Instead of entering the room, she reached around the jamb and twisted the key.
The sudden darkness was both relieving and more unsettling.
Bringing her fingernail to her teeth, her tongue grazed over the metallic residue of the gas key that had rubbed off on her finger.
Her tongue braced upwards in her mouth at the bitter taste, but the habit of chewing her nail won out as she viciously tore a cuticle from the fringe.
She looked down at the long, tarnished blade in her hand, then crept into the room, stooping lower so as not to appear in the window. Was he still there? She brought the tip of the knife to the edge of the material and drew it from the window casing. The orange dot still burned in the same spot.
She must think, but the pulsing in her temples ricocheted her thoughts back and forth with the fierceness of a stickball match.
Her grip tightened on the handle as she brought the knife down to thigh level.
Her eyes roamed over the half-packed suitcase.
The man outside must have been following her for some time now.
He hadn’t approached her. Why? It didn’t matter.
She must finish packing. Renting a room and sneaking out the back door flew to her mind, but then she thought of her meager savings and decided against it.
If she used any, she might not have enough to get them both back to New York.
That was out of the question. Her doors were locked, and this man had had plenty of chances to do her harm prior to this.
He was watching her—not trying to break in.
Judge Matthews’s warning rang in her ears.
She set the knife down on the dresser. In the stillness, the sound of the implement hitting the wood exploded in her ears and made her instantly wish to regain her grasp.
She stuffed the last bits of clothing into the valise and snapped it shut.
The buckles made a soft click as each slid into place.
Hoisting the suitcase off the bed, she reached to retrieve the knife from the dresser.
Plodding as quietly as possible down the stairs, she came to the edge of the sofa and stopped.
She could see from the mantel clock that there were several hours to pass before dawn would break.
She made another mental list of the items in the suitcase, willing herself to be thorough.
The stay order from Judge Matthews. Clothes.
Toiletries. Money. Her photographs—these may help her prove her connection to Simon, if there was any doubt.
She looked down at the small suitcase balancing precariously against the parlor table. Would it be enough?
She listened to the slow tick of the clock and finally placed the knife on the table within reach. Shadows flickered across the walls as she checked for the glow from the parlor window. The orange glow had disappeared.