Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
ARLOW
Thick smoke curls up into the air from the direction of our homes, and a brick falls into my stomach. It’s too close to be a neighbor down the road doing a controlled burn. Plus, we’ve had rain for days. Everything is wet. Did I leave the heater on in the honey shed? No, I’m sure I didn’t. I was in there the other day and would’ve noticed.
Whatever it is, it’s intentional.
Calli looks at me with wide eyes as I take her hand to run. “Oh god, I hope it’s not your house, your studio,” she gasps as we tear down the hill and into the graveyard.
From this view, I can see it isn’t the barn, and the back of my house looks okay, but the smoke is right in front. It could be the porch, or one of our vehicles.
“What are you doing?” Calli exclaims when I slow my steps, then pause to pull my gun out of my pocket. “Mine is in the house,” she adds with a curse.
“It’s okay. Just keep aware of our surroundings. If someone is here…”
Nodding, she stays by my side while we make our way between the barn and the house. Relief pours into me to see the house and cabin are fine. A large fire burns in the driveway, the hulking shape consumed by flames and unrecognizable at first.
“No!” Calli cries. The dismay in her voice is terrible.
The wooden glider that she restored, and I painted for her is fully engulfed. The faint smell of gasoline hangs in the air. One of my gas cans that I left in the back of my truck lies on its side about ten feet away.
“The hose!” Calli shouts, and I grab her arm as she starts toward the side of the house.
“It’s been put away for winter. It’s too late, anyway.”
“Fuck!”
“I know, Peach, but we need to look around and make sure they aren’t still here.” I doubt it. That fire has been burning for a while. Whoever it was probably watched us leave before dragging the glider from my porch and setting it on fire. For what? What could be the purpose of this shit other than revenge? This is Handleman.
I keep my gun out while we check around the barn. There’s no sign anyone has tried to break the locks or get in. The honey shed is never locked but there’s no one hiding inside. My back door is still secure. We return to the front where the fire is burning down.
“Arlow!” Calli shouts. She runs up the steps onto my porch.
I’m right behind her, and we both stare at the knife jutting from the wood of my front door, a sheet of paper pinned in place by the sharp blade.
In handwriting so messy that it’s almost illegible, is a message.
Send one million dollars to the account below or I’ll make your life a living hell. No cops. Don’t fucking try me. You have one week.
Under that is a string of numbers, separated by spaces that make it clear it’s a bank routing number and account number.
Out of instinct, Calli reaches toward it, but I catch her hand before she can touch it. She looks up at me, her voice hushed as if someone may be listening. “This can’t be real. Nobody could be this stupid.”
“Don’t touch it.”
Calli nods and pulls her phone out. “I still have the officer’s number from last time.”
From last time, not even a week ago. This shit has to stop. While she makes the call, I unlock the front door and we have a quick look around inside before stepping back out to the porch to await the officer’s arrival.
Calli sits on my top step, her shoulders slumped, watching the glider turn to ashes. “It was like they knew what I valued most. They didn’t burn the fucking lawn chairs or tables or anything else. They chose the nicest gift I’ve ever been given.” She blinks away tears, glancing over at me. “Your art. I’m so sorry.”
I sit beside her, rubbing my hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Once this is over, we’ll scour the flea markets and yard sales for another one. Maybe add in some birds or bees this time.”
Her small smile is diplomatic, and her hands tremble as she tucks them between her knees. It’s not the cold. She’s trying hard to be okay, but who the hell would be? As much as I hate it, she had the right idea before. “You were right. You should go to a hotel. I can help you with money if that’s an issue. Or I’ll go with you. We can get a room together until this gets sorted out.” We’ve never talked about her finances. It’s never seemed like an issue for her. When she quit the diner, I assumed she had savings or a plan.
Her reply is quick and overflowing with furious indignation. “And leave your home and studio unprotected? No. Fuck that. They don’t get to do this to either of us. I’m staying. We’re going to catch these assholes.”
Her courage and determination are impressive, but I don’t want her putting herself at risk over my issue. “This is my fault. My problem to solve.”
“You don’t know that.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I know it’s likely the guy you told me about, but there’s someone who harassed me before. I honestly don’t think he could find me now if he wanted to and I doubt he’d want to. But it isn’t impossible. I need to give his name to the officers too, just in case.”
“Who is he?” All this time, she hasn’t mentioned anyone, not even when the cops asked about enemies. “An ex-boyfriend?”
“Not my ex. My mom’s boyfriend. Or he was until she died.” The squad cars pull into our driveway, and she looks over at me. “It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you everything later. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. He bailed so fast that he didn’t even claim her remains. I thought he was gone, and it just didn’t seem relevant, but now that they’re asking for money…”
My mind spins with questions, but I only manage one as the officers approach us. “Do you have that kind of money?”
She sucks her bottom lip in and gives a reluctant nod.
The police take this much more seriously than they did the vandalism and burglary. Maybe because the threat is a more serious crime or maybe because they find out that I have the money to pay such a demand if I chose. Like it or not, money commands a respect from authorities that isn’t given to the general population.
They call in a crime scene investigator to take pictures. They look for fingerprints on the note, the knife, and the gas can. There’s no sign of tire tracks or anything that shows how they arrived or left or how many people it may have been. Both Calli and I are interviewed together and separately. This time I give them all the information I know on Chris Handleman, including that he’s on the run from parole.
In the meantime, there isn’t much they can do. They suggest security cameras—which I already have if we could get our damn internet access back—and advise us to install motion lights. They promise to keep us updated.
“I can’t imagine it’ll take long,” Calli remarks after they’ve left, while we’re in her car on our way to the hardware store. “Bank accounts aren’t anonymous. Surely, they’ll be able to see whose account that is.”
“We’re definitely not dealing with a criminal mastermind,” I agree as she parks. “But that doesn’t make them less dangerous. I want you right by my side every second until they’re caught.” When she doesn’t respond, I look at her and add, “Do you hear me, Calliope?”
She blinks at me a couple of times. “I’ll keep close for the next couple of days but if this drags out, I’m not going to live like a prisoner. I’ll stay with you, but I’m not locking myself away.”
“I need you to be safe.”
“I know. I need the same for you.”
We pick up the security lights and hardware we need. There’s just enough daylight left for us to get them installed around my house and her cabin. They’re motion triggered, and I adjust the sensitivity where they’ll hopefully pick up a person but not every squirrel.
“Okay, I’m blind,” Calli giggles when we test them out. They illuminate the place like a football field. Nobody is sneaking up here at night without us knowing.
An icy wind cuts through my clothes, tossing around a few wispy snow flurries. “Let’s get inside and warm up.”
After dinner, I build a fire in the living room fireplace. I waited for us to get the necessary things finished today, but once Calli curls up on the opposite end of the couch, I ask her about her mother’s boyfriend and her suspicions.
“I told you that my mom was a horrible person. Her boyfriend is no different. It’s amazing really, how those type of people seem to find each other.”
I’m already on alert, my muscles tensed, afraid she’s getting ready to reveal abuse by the asshole boyfriend as well.
“Anyway, like I said before, I left them as soon as I could. It wasn’t easy, and there were times I was close to homeless, sleeping on a friend’s couch before finding another place. With only a high school education, my choices were limited, and minimum wage doesn’t pay rent. Mom and her boyfriend, Carl, left me alone mostly. They’d turn up every few months—and sometimes even a year or two would go by between—just to harass me, remind me that I was a piece of shit.”
“What did they want from you?”
“Nothing. It was what Mom liked to do when she was bored. I watched her do the same to other people most of my life. She would start shit because it excited her. She said once it was the only time she felt alive.”
“She sounds crazy,” I remark, not really meaning to say the words aloud, but Calli nods.
“I used to think she was. Or that she had some sort of mental illness, you know? Until I met people who dealt with mental illnesses that affected their behavior. I noticed a big difference. Afterward, when they were stable again, they regretted the things they’d done when they couldn’t help themselves. She was proud of it.
She had so many stories about things she’d done, like how she trashed a grocery store because the worker asked her to avoid the wet floor, or how she’d poisoned her neighbor’s cat when it wouldn’t stay off her porch. One of the worst examples she used to brag about was bullying a woman who lived in the apartment under ours, someone who actually had a mental illness. I’m not sure if she was bipolar or schizophrenic or what, but she was delicate. I remember when I was around twelve years old Mom being so thrilled because she had dumped bleach in all the plants on her balcony and it was the last straw after months of such behavior. It led to the woman trying to kill herself and ending up institutionalized.” Calli shakes her head. “Mom kept giggling and saying, “Bet she won’t give me another dirty look.’”
“Jesus.”
“She wasn’t crazy. She was mean, hateful. I have a hundred examples like that, but I’m getting off subject. I just want you to understand this wasn’t a typical mother daughter disagreement or me not liking her boyfriend. I couldn’t give a shit about him.”
“I get it.”
“Over the years, I’d have to deal with them showing up to park outside my house and yell insults or threats, but they never did anything violent. Or if she found out where I worked, she’d show up there starting trouble hoping to get me fired. I don’t know if she found someone new to torture or just got bored of me, but it eventually stopped. Life was still a struggle. I was working multiple jobs trying to keep a roof over my head, but I’d made some friends and things were getting better. At least I thought so.
“I ended up in a similar situation as Silver did. I was dating Zach, one of the guys that was in my friend group, and when he cheated on me with another of our friends, the group sided with them. I kicked Zach out and cut all ties to them. After I threw all his stuff out, I walked to the liquor store across the street to get something to help me forget. On a whim, I bought a lottery ticket while I was there.”
She looks over at me, tucking her legs beneath her. “The next day I woke up with a massive hangover and nine million dollars richer.”
Holy shit. “You hit the lottery?”
“I did. A little over fourteen million, but I got about nine after taxes. I almost had a heart attack when I found out. The downside was that you can’t claim the winnings anonymously in Indiana. It was on the news and part of the public record. Before I even had the money deposited, Mom and Carl were stalking my house, demanding a cut. It got ugly and the cops removed them a couple of times, though they were never arrested.
“I moved to the other side of Indianapolis without any forwarding address, into a little rental house. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do yet and my worst fear was squandering the money. I’ve heard how often that happens to poor people who suddenly come into money. Nine million is way more than enough to live very comfortably my whole life but it’s also not so much that it couldn’t be blown through. Anyway, my plan was to stay there while I figured out what I wanted to do.”
She sighs, shaking her head. “It took them less than a month to find me and start in again. I’d always been able to count on them to eventually get bored and give up, but not this time. They were there every day. The police wouldn’t do anything because parking on a public street and screaming threats apparently isn’t against the law. I knew I’d have to move again, and I hired a lawyer to help me really disappear, starting by changing my last name. I found a luxury apartment located in Cincinnati that had a doorman and good security. On my last night in Indianapolis…” She pauses with a bitter smile and mumbles, “I swear it was like they knew it was their last chance.”
“To scream at you?”
“To kill me.”
My throat tightens and my fists clench as she continues.
“They shot up my house that night while I was home. It was pure luck that I was sleeping on the floor, because I’d already gotten rid of most of the furniture. A bullet missed me by inches.”
My mother’s face flashes in front of me. I can’t imagine how it must feel to have your own mother try to take your life. Over money. “Calliope.” It’s all I can manage to say as I move to sit beside her and wrap my arms around her middle.
“I’m okay. It feels good to finally tell someone.”
“Did they get arrested?”
“No, I couldn’t prove it was them. Nobody had any cameras. Drive-by shootings in the city aren’t unheard of and it was written off as probable gang violence. I should’ve seen it coming, really. I knew she was capable of more if the stakes were high enough, and with me having no other family except for a father they probably wouldn’t be able to locate and a brother in prison, Mom would’ve inherited my money if I’d died.
“So, I left and made it to Cincinnati. New name, no way for them or anyone from my past to find me. I changed my phone number and deleted all social media. The only thing I kept was an old email address that I’d occasionally check because Dad would often use it if he couldn’t remember my number. Mom and Carl weren’t internet savvy, they wouldn’t have the first clue you could track an email or IP address, but I still made sure to check it from public WIFI spots. They weren’t dumb enough to threaten me in writing.
“I was safe, but my mind didn’t quite believe it. Anxiety has always been a part of me, but it got drastically worse, until I rarely left my apartment. It pissed me off. Here I finally had some freedom from them and from having to work all the time, but I was trapping myself .”
“The anxiety was trapping you,” I interrupt softly. “And no fucking wonder, sweetheart. You were nearly killed.”
“I found a therapist online that worked with agoraphobia and anxiety disorders. We started with virtual visits, but she started insisting I come in more and more. For nearly two years, I worked on getting my anxiety under control. I didn’t leave very often. A few festivals with my concert friends are the highlight of those years. Until an email showed up in my box with a copy of my mother’s obituary and a request from her church for me to accept her remains. Apparently, they’d paid for her cremation, and Carl had run off without the ashes.”
She looks up at me. “I was so relieved. So thrilled she was dead. My anxiety improved overnight.” Her tone bleeds shame and guilt. “Of course, I didn’t have to take her ashes, but I wanted them. I wanted to look at them and know I was free from her forever. That’s why I haven’t been able to scatter them. I like to look at them and be reminded that she’s finally dead.” Bitterness lives in the tiny tilt of her lips. “Because I inherited some of her hateful nature, no matter how much I try to fight it.”
“No. Some people deserve that level of hatred and she more than qualifies. You aren’t anything like her.”
Calli doesn’t argue, just leans her head on my shoulder and continues. “I had them mail the remains to a PO Box. It wasn’t long after that when I found the ad for the cabin and decided to get out of the city and see if I liked living in nature. Somewhere peaceful.” She tilts her head with a small smile. “Where I met a graveyard creeper and stole his peaches.”
All I can do for a moment is hold her. Not a bit of me could’ve imagined everything she’d been through right before coming here. “I’m sorry that’s what brought you, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“You may want to rethink that, if it’s Carl that left the threat. I still highly doubt it for a few reasons. He was never the leader when they were harassing me. It was more like he was following her orders which was par for the course. He was always the driver, always the one to wait in the car while she went psycho. Without Mom, he really has no link to me. Cops would be more likely to take him harassing me seriously. And he has to know I wasn’t going to give him any money if I wouldn’t give it to her.
“Also, I’ve moved twice now and changed my name. Even if he wanted to try, I don’t think he could find me.” She hesitates with a sigh. “But there’s one thing that bothers me and maybe it’s overthinking, but the man who took your ATV was wearing a dark denim jacket. Carl always wore one too.”
My question comes out softly. “What’s your name?”
“Hmm?” She peeks up at me.
“You said you changed your name.”
“I’ve always been Calliope, but my last name was Raines, same as my dad’s. I changed it to Barnes, and started using my nickname Calli, on anything official. Calli Barnes.”
I run my hand through her hair. “Calliope Raines. Beautiful.”