Chapter Nineteen
It became a pattern of Jason coming over with takeout every few nights, and us eating dinner together. I learned a lot more about his job and what he had been up to these past three years. He also told me about the renovations he was doing to his parents’ house. I, in turn, shared a bit more about my life. I told him about how I had taken up knitting and how I donated dog clothes and blankets I knitted to the local animal shelter. He took so much interest in my knitting and donating, that it was a little embarrassing, but I felt a prick of pride when I showed him some of the stuff I had made and he expressed admiration.
He purposely never brought up the topic of my mother and Keith, which I appreciated. He also never brought up the topic of my mental health or leaving the house. It made me able to enjoy his company without worrying about what topic he would bring up.
A month had passed since Jason had first appeared, and I smiled when I heard the doorbell ring. He had already texted that he was coming over with dinner, asking me what I wanted. He had two large bags when I let him in, and I laughed at how full they were as he set them on the kitchen counter.
“How much food did you get?” I asked, as I started taking out endless takeout containers. “There’s only two of us.”
“Leftovers,” Jason said as he starting taking out plates and silverware. We worked in a comfortable routine getting the food ready and the dinner table set. “You can never have too much food, because then you get to have leftovers.”
“I think you ordered every dish at the Mexican restaurant,” I joked. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s probably a good idea since it’s a new restaurant so we don’t know what’s good.”
I had gotten a flyer for the new Mexican restaurant in our town, and I was hoping it was good because the one I loved had closed down. And I was a sucker for good Mexican food.
“Now, that’s the attitude I like to hear!” Jason said, grinning. He opened a couple of beers and then we dug into the food. There were a few minutes of silence as we concentrated on eating.
“I’m impressed,” I said, after devouring a couple of carne asada tacos. “It’s pretty good.”
“We should try eating at the restaurant next time,” Jason replied, taking a swig of his beer. “They have a Mariachi band on the weekends.”
I didn’t answer and kept my gaze on my plate of food, concentrating on eating. Jason paused midway of placing his beer down, seeming to be suddenly aware of what he had just said. He set his beer on the table slowly, watching me.
“I didn’t mean—“
“It’s okay,” I interrupted. I didn’t want to hear him apologize for suggesting we go out. It was a normal comment that people made all the time. It wasn’t Jason’s fault that I had turned into a freak that couldn’t leave the house. I wondered how long it would take for Jason to get bored of coming over all the time. And what scintillating conversation could I offer him? What happened on the last rerun of Friends I watched?
Jason changed the subject, and we pretended everything was back to normal, but I could feel the awkwardness and stiltedness in our conversation. I knew this would happen sooner or later—the start of the decline. Maybe today was the day I should try to get Jason to stop coming over. I knew he would argue if I flat-out told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, so it had to happen gradually, where he didn’t realize it was happening.
“I have a big deadline coming up at work,” I said. “I’m going to be working non-stop, so it’s probably a good idea for you to not come over for a while.”
Jason frowned, leaning back in his chair. “You still need to eat.”
“I’ll barely even have time to do that,” I rushed to explain. “I’ll just be popping meals in the microwave for the time being.”
Jason shook his head. “That’s not eating. If you have a big deadline, you should be eating actual meals so you have enough energy to work.”
I sighed. He wasn’t making this easy. “Just for a week.” I would worry about how to stop him from coming over after the week was over. I just needed him to agree to this first break.
Jason didn’t look convinced, but I knew he was afraid of pushing too hard. “Let me just get food delivered to you then. I want to know that you’re eating more than microwave meals.”
“I can do that on my own,” I said, exasperated. The truth was, I didn’t order delivery often because I didn’t want to deal with delivery people, even if I just instructed them to drop off the food at the front door. There had been instances where they had ignored the instructions and rang the doorbell, waiting for someone to answer. I didn’t want to take that chance if I didn’t have to.
I was relieved when Jason begrudgingly agreed. I tried to relax for the rest of dinner, but I could only breathe easy when he finally left after helping me clean up.
I realized just how much Jason’s presence this past month had affected me, when I woke up feeling down the next day. Since he had agreed to not come over for a week, there was no anticipation of him texting, saying he was coming over for dinner and asking me what I wanted. It was disquieting to see how much of an impact he had made in such a short time.
I told myself to shake off the feeling of dejection. I was fine before Jason had appeared. My life may have been monotonous, but I was surviving. If I was already feeling dispirited about not seeing Jason for a week, how much worse would it be if he was in my life for longer than a month, and then left?
I tried to distract myself with my work, but wasn’t very successful. I found my thoughts drifting to Jason. I wondered what he was doing and if he was going to stick to his word about not coming over for a week. Fortunately, I had the opposite of what I had lied about. My workload was pretty light at the moment, which saved me from falling behind since I wasn’t getting much work done.
After a lunch of microwaved lasagna, I checked the window to make sure no neighbors were outside before getting my mail. Even though my mailbox was right next to my front door, I didn’t want to chance seeing someone. Or more accurately, them seeing me.
I rifled through the usual bills and junk mail, stopping on a letter that had no stamp or postmark. I wrinkled my brow, wondering who had put the envelope directly into my mailbox. There was no return address, and my name and address was typed.
I opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. When I unfolded the letter and read the contents, my world tilted on its axis.
Hiding away won’t make what you did disappear. You’ll pay for your sins, sooner or later. I’m betting on sooner.
Fear clawed at me. A wave of nausea hit me as I reread the letter over and over again. Who had sent this? Why had they sent this? This letter had to be about what I had done to Keith. Someone knew. Someone knew I killed him. What else could this letter be about?
I felt my legs give way, and I crumpled to the floor, the letter clutched in my hands. The letter had been typed as well, and the black letters were stark against the white of the paper. This letter hadn’t been mailed. Whoever had sent this letter had walked up to my house. They had stood in front of my house, opened the mailbox right next to my front door, and put the letter in. They had been so close.
I cursed myself again for not having a doorbell camera. I had dismissed the idea once I had realized it had been Jason at my door that first time. I had been stupid for not installing one.
I paused at the thought. All these years had gone by in silence, and then Jason had appeared, and all of a sudden, I get an anonymous threatening note?
I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. Jason had nothing to do with this. He hadn’t even known about my mother and Keith dying until recently. And he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.
I wracked my brain, trying to think who could have possibly sent me this note. No one knew what had really happened. The police had readily accepted the scenario of a murder-suicide. I had been deemed an innocent witness to a horrific tragedy. No one knew what really happened. No one.
The memory of the way the knife felt piercing Keith’s body rushed over me, and I half ran/crawled to the bathroom. I barely made it before getting sick in the toilet. My stomach heaved and heaved, until there was nothing left to throw up, but my body kept spasming, trying to rid the memory of what I had done.
I lay on the bathroom floor, the cold tile making sure I knew this was reality and not a nightmare. I had hated being a prisoner in my own home, but now I wished I could barricade myself in here with metal bars and steel doors.
It was a while before I could gather myself to stand up. I leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on my face over and over again. I stared at myself in the mirror, water sluicing down my face and my eyes bloodshot from the strain of throwing up. What was happening? Who had sent that letter? Could it possibly mean anything besides what had happened with Keith?
I was a mess for the rest of the day. Every little sound made me jump, and even in the security of my house, I felt unsafe. I felt like eyes were watching me, even though I had made sure every shade was closed in the house. Even though it was a sunny day, you never would have known from the darkness of my house. I felt like the darker my house, the less someone could see me.
I barely slept that night. The next day, I was relieved when I saw my package had been delivered. I had bought a doorbell camera online, and paid extra for an overnight rush delivery. I quickly installed it, downloading the monitoring app on my cell phone. I still didn’t feel safe, but at least now I would see anyone approaching my door.
I jumped when a notification sounded on my phone, but it was just a text from Jason. I answered his text asking how I was doing and how work was coming along with a terse Fine in response. The last thing I needed was Jason to find out what was happening. It would open up questions about what the letter meant, and there was no way anyone, especially Jason, would find out the truth.