Chapter 22
Mitch had sketched out three pages of possible new book ideas. They were all trite and fairly boring, but maybe if he kept writing them down something fresh and original would appear.
Anything was possible.
He started a new sentence only to have his pen run out of ink. Had he written that much? It was his favorite pen. He had a box of them in his desk drawer, but he took running out of ink as a sign that he was done for the night. Might as well go to bed. He tucked the legal pad under his arm, picked up his phone, his cup, and stood.
Arlington’s letter slipped from the pad and fell to the deck floor. Mitch retrieved it and carried it with the rest of his things.
He put his coffee cup in the kitchen sink, then took the legal pad and pen into his office and left them on the desk. He almost left the letter there, but he ended up taking it into the bedroom with him.
He deposited the envelope on the nightstand as he changed for bed. Tonight, he was going to get some real sleep. He had a new hardback, a psychological thriller by a debut author his publisher wanted him to read for a quote, and he was sure The Girl Who Ran would knock him out faster than any pill.
His usual hot shower was followed by a quick trip to the kitchen, where he made a cup of warm milk with honey and a dash of cinnamon in it. Not something he usually drank, but Jeanie had sworn by it when she couldn’t sleep. He set the cup on the nightstand along with the book and Arlington’s letter, then climbed into bed.
Propped up on pillows, he opened the book to the first page and rested it on his bent legs. He took a sip of the milk. It was all right. Tasted better than he’d expected. The smell carried pleasant memories of Jeanie with it. Maybe the drink would help.
He started reading, trying to really focus and give the words his full attention. He didn’t give out cover quotes unless he could be honest. That meant he had to find something about the book worthy of praise.
Few made the cut. It wasn’t because he was overly critical or trying to keep anyone down. He was just hard to impress. He was jaded from years in the business. He recognized that about himself and by now, his publisher ought to recognize it, too. Which meant they thought this book was something special to send it to him.
He was halfway through page five when he stopped to drink more milk. The book was…fine. The phrasing was good. The writing was fairly tight. He was really trying to keep an open mind but so far, it all felt like it had been done before.
A woman alone, running for her life through a dark forest (sometimes it was desolate back alleys in some big city), being chased by some nameless psychopathic killer. She would inevitably end up dead. In the next chapter, the reader would meet the fearless but overworked and world-weary police detective (or the occasional FBI agent) who would eventually track down the killer.
The detective would have their own past wounds to deal with, their own personal issues that drove them to seek justice. Many times, a killer that had gotten away. Occasionally, it was trauma in the form of a loved one’s death. Every so often, that death had been caused by the nameless psychopathic killer from Chapter One.
It wasn’t a bad formula. People who loved thrillers probably expected this kind of thing. And it worked when an author found an interesting way to make the formula their own. Or when the author had a particularly readable voice that shone through.
This book was just okay. He read on, making it to the end of Chapter Two before he set it aside. He’d finish it and do his best to come up with a quote that wasn’t a lie. He had standards, but he also needed to keep his publisher happy.
He wasn’t reading any more of it tonight, however. He grabbed his phone. He checked his email, then set the phone down and drank the rest of the milk. Still no response from Kyle about the sunset picture. Nothing new there.
Mitch put the empty cup on the nightstand and reached for the light. Arlington’s letter lay there, beckoning.
He touched the envelope. He needed to sleep. This letter was probably not the way to do that. Going back to the book would be a better solution.
But the envelope was already in his hands. He slid his finger under the sealed flap and opened it. He pulled the folded pages out, but just held them. The swirls and whorls of Arlington’s handwriting were faintly visible through the paper.
Dread settled over Mitch. A premonition that there was going to be something awful revealed in the words he was about to read. That was ridiculous. Arlington had never been anything but a positive influence in Mitch’s life.
But these pages were all that was left of Arlington. The only new interaction he’d ever have with the man ever again.
He hated that. The finality of it.
He couldn’t put off reading the letter forever. It was time to find out whatever Arlington had wanted him to know.
Sighing deeply, Mitch unfolded the pages.
Mitch, my boy, I hope this finds you well. I imagine it won’t, since the delivery of this letter hinges on my demise. So if you’re reading it, I have shuffled off this mortal coil. Such is everyone’s fate. None of us avoid it.
Mitch blew air through his nostrils. Wasn’t that the truth.
You, however, have a lot of life left to live. I hope you are living it, but I suspect you are not. I know how deeply you’ve felt the loss of your beloved Jeanie, and I with you, albeit not to your extent. She was a uniquely wonderful woman, the kind who left the world a better place for her being in it.
She was cut from the same sturdy and miraculous cloth as my Caroline. Those kinds of woman are rare, although they do, thankfully, still exist.
I suspect your Joyce is one of those. She must be something special to put up with you.
Mitch rolled his eyes, even though he agreed with the assessment.
You haven’t let her go, have you? I hope not. But I’m not writing because I feel the need to tell you whom to employ. I’m writing because you have always been a dear friend. In some ways, like another son to me. And I cannot leave you without a few words of advice and encouragement.
And a request.
Mitch’s brows rose.
Brace yourself, because you’re not going to like it, but you can’t refuse a dying wish, can you? Not in good conscience, so read on. What I want is for you to engage the services of the woman who delivered this letter.
Mitch read that a second time to be sure he’d read it correctly.
She has been a boon to me and my family. I signed an NDA with her, so by sharing this next part, I’m in breach of contract but I doubt there’s a litigator in the land who’d take the case against a dead man.
Harper Calhoun is not only a great listener, and a counsellor of the highest regard, but she is a vault. Nothing you say to her will ever be repeated. It’s what she does, my boy. She’s a professional secret keeper. A confidante. You need someone like that. Someone to unburden yourself to now that Jeanie’s gone. Harper is that person.
Now for the litigious part. She’s the one who convinced Teddy to go to rehab. She’s the one who saved his marriage. She’s gotten me through numerous crises, both personal and professional. And, most surprisingly to you, I imagine, she’s the one who talked me into taking the role as the Doomsday Oracle.
Mitch’s mouth fell open. He’d always thought Arlington had taken the job as a favor to him. Because they were friends. The man was clearly too big of a star for such a role, even if his star had diminished a bit in his later years.
When Arlington had been added to the cast, the show’s numbers had shot up. Not only had viewers been curious to see him in such a role, but he’d been good. Really good. Viewership had continued to increase as Arlington’s star began to shine again.
The producers had asked for a second contract. Lucinda had asked for more money. Both had been agreed upon.
To think Arlington had to be talked into taking the role…Mitch shook his head. Then he read on.
I apologize if this news comes as a shock to you. I suspect you believe I took the role because of our friendship. In truth, I thought it would loudly announce my position as a has-been, something I didn’t want to admit. Harper convinced me otherwise. She’d read the books and loved them. She told me it was exactly what I needed to be relevant again.
She was right. The day my first episode aired, I had three movie offers. Fifteen total over the following month. I turned them all down, of course. I’d committed to the series. But I wasn’t interested in them, either. The work on the series was enough. I knew then I wasn’t long for this world.
I tell you all this to assure you Harper is worth your time. Seek her out. Engage her services. Let her show you how to find happiness again. I promise you, it’s there. Do that for me, will you?
Don’t make me come back and haunt you.
With the deepest affection,
Arlington
Mitch stared at the paper, the letters blurring on the page as his mind turned the words over. He loved Arlington and he hated to deny the request of a dead man, but there was no way he was talking to that woman. No way she could help him.
He didn’t need help. He needed a few good ideas and to be left alone.
He turned out the light.