Part Eleven: A Miscalculation

For the first time since they’d been together, Jamie raised his hand to hit Maggie. He saw was her eyes going wide with fear, but her mouth twist into that smirk that made him angry every time he saw it. No matter what he said, no matter what he did, he couldn’t break her. It was infuriating, it was annoying, it was why they were still together.

 But he’d miscalculated. You see, Dave hated bullies his entire life. The only fights he’d ever been in were fought after watching someone big hurt someone small. And this jerk was big (or at least the guy thought he was) and Maggie, his Maggie, was small. Too small to get hit by some overcompensating boy with a car louder than his mouth.

The next thing Jamie knew, he was on the ground, watching Maggie beg this random man not to kill him, not here. His head was pounding, his vision blurry, but the thing that hurt most was his pride. Realizing how easily he actually could end up dead, he got to his feet as quickly as he could (made difficult by the sudden axis change of the earth) and hightailed it to his car. The last thing he saw was both Maggie and her “friend” staring at him.

 *Normally the author doesn’t interject and impose an opinion on the reader, but I feel compelled to say a smarter man would’ve gone home, packed his bags, never to be heard from again. Fortunately, for entertainment’s purposes we are not dealing with a smart man. Unfortunately for Jamie, we’re dealing with a real idiot. Thank you for indulging in this sidebar with me.*

 Dave wasn’t sorry, he was activated. It’d been a minute since he’d had a purpose, a focus besides love. Watching the man who would’ve hit Maggie drive away clicked his entire life into place. On one side there was Maggie, a woman he decided was the love of his life. On the other there was the man he would learn is Jamie, a man he decided it was his mission to… negatively impact as aggressively as possible.

 Dave smiled. For the first time in his existence, life was good.

Part Ten: Questioning (Part Two)

Maggie rushed into the kitchen, scaring Mickey in the middle of firing a grilled cheese for her most consistent customer.

“Sorry Mickey, I just needed a moment.”

He paused. “What’s wrong? You need me to go out there?”

“No! No. No, it’s just a police officer is here looking for one of our regulars. At least, that’s what Dolores called him.”

“Aww hell, who is it? Madeline? I knew her husband was no good-”

“No-”

“Derrick? They finally going to charge him with drunk driving? I knew it. He stays at the bar way too late-”

“Mickey! No! They’re looking for Bryant.”

“I knew it. Ever since he and the wife split up he’s been a complete jerk. What does that have to do with you? Do you know where he is?”

“No, of course not.”

“Aww hell, were you involved with him? I tried to warn you. I knew you’d come to this small town and think everyone was kind, but it’s not true Maggie-”

“Mickey, believe me, I know everyone isn’t ‘kind’. And I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“Right, the muscle guy. Between you and me he isn’t that nice either, but I don’t meddle in other people’s business. But you be careful with that one Maggie.”

“Sure Mickey. I’ll just… be out back for a moment, okay?”

“Sure, take your time. Just not too long. Doesn’t look good.”

 Maggie went outside hoping for a moment alone, but the crunch of gravel let her know that wasn’t going to happen. Looking up, she saw Dave, hands in his pockets, staring at her like he’d swallow her whole if given the chance.

 “You should head back inside. Your grilled cheese will be out any minute.”

 He paused, staring at her too long and too much. Her instincts told her to run, but as she turned to go back inside she felt his hand on her arm. Maggie instantly stilled, slowly spinning around. For a moment, they stared at each other.

“What the hell is this?”

 Oh no. How’d she missed the gravel beneath his feet? The loud engine of his sports car? The smell of his overbearing cologne? This wouldn’t be good. It never was when he came to visit her at work. And on today of all days.

 Dave should’ve stayed inside. He knew it, she knew it, and this new guy on the scene knew it, but there was no way he could let Maggie stew in her fear alone. He knew what it was like, feeling your heart thump behind your breastbone so hard and fast you could swear you’re having a heart attack but, but, you’re not, the doctor reassures you over and over again. To the relief of your mother. To the shame of your father.

 “What the hell is this?” He asked again, approaching Dave and Maggie as if he would kill them both on the spot. Instinctively, Dave stepped in front of her. He didn’t say a word, which seemed to send the guy into an all out rage; he became a ball of vein popping, muscle flexing, curse spewing insanity, standing so close to Dave he started choking on his cologne.

 “Nothing Jamie. Nothing, I just needed to step outside for a moment.” Maggie’s voice was doing that high pitched little girl thing again. Having observed Maggie for weeks at this point he knew her voice was octaves lower, but what better defense against a misogynist than playing into the stereotype of a weak woman?

 “Oh yeah, so what’s this guy doing here? You two taking breaks together, having quickies in your car?”

 “Of course not Jamie, he was just…”

 “Just what? Being a friend? Okay. Let’s see how good of a “friend” he actually is.

Part Nine: Questioning (Part One)

Detective Anthony Marshall was new to Laurel after his stint in New York proved a little too… action packed for him. It was a week ago Monday when his for boss dropped a file on his desk, “recommending” a position in Louisiana that opened up in his cousin’s town. It would be a “good change of a pace” and a “great career move” and was “completely optional and not coming from hire ups at all”. Anthony might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but he’d seen enough guys pushed out to know what this was; a friendly transfer that preceded a “we need you to take an extended leave” if turned down.

That’s how he ended with Bryant Cobb’s missing person’s case on his desk. The ex-wife came to the precinct on his first day, putting on a show in a tank top and cut offs, claiming that her ex-husband had been gone for a week and that this just wasn’t like him. His camper was parked in the back of their house and she usually saw him go in and out at least a few times a day, but since last Monday his eyesore of a home had been vacant. Of course she’d searched it, looking for any signs of a struggle, abandonment, (or another woman, Anthony suspected), but now she had to come to the cops just in case he was hurt or in a ditch somewhere.

New on the scene meant he was the one to search the camper and he was the one to retrace Cobb’s credit card charges, which landed him at the local diner, Cup and Sup. When he walked in people went silent, eyeing him up and down. Anthony wasn’t offended; in small towns like this, anything new was a novelty and he was the latest shiny addition. Clearing his throat, he walked toward the counter.

“I’m Detective Marshall, can I ask you all a few questions?”

The older woman came forward, ready and willing, but the younger one hung back.

“How can we help Detective?”

“I’m investigating a missing person, a Bryant Cobb. Any of you know him?”

“Well most of the regulars do,” the woman looked around at almost everyone, most of which nodded their head in agreement. The younger one did not.

“Did you know him?” He asked her directly, taking in the way her eyes flitted around, occasionally landing on the ball of tension in the corner.

“Maybe.” She responded, with a small, squeaky voice he suspected was put on for effect. “What did he look like?”

“Five foot ten inches, 160 pounds, light brown hair, scar through his eyebrow. Last seen in a grey and blue plaid flannel shirt and black pants.”

“I’m not sure, we get so many people…”

The older woman frowned at her. “Bryant is a jerk, you’d remember if you served him.” Turning to Detective Marshall she said “He was in here a few days ago. She waited on him. I remember because he stayed until close and there weren’t many people left. Oh, and it was dark outside so Mickey” she jutted her thumb towards the kitchen “walked me to my car. She locked up.”

Marshall turned to the young woman. “Still don’t remember him?”

“Can’t say that I do, like I said, so many people… will you excuse me a moment?”

 She rushed off before he could answer.

Part Eight: A Villain Origin Story

Jamie used to cry himself to sleep as a little boy, never really sure why but knowing the dark meant he wasn’t safe. Mornings always found him damp with sweat and tears, uncertain of when or how he fell asleep but grateful that the sun was back. It was a night like this at his friend’s house that laid the foundation for a fraught relationship with his father.

It’d been a good day; there was pizza and cake at Joel’s house, and his mom even let them have soda (his mom never did). They watched Hercules on DVD with his parents until it was time to go to bed. This particular night found him brushing his teeth and putting on pajamas in slow motion, his limbs uncooperative as emotions filled his belly. He would later learn he suffered with anxiety, but at ten years old he had no words, just feelings that he couldn’t express. Leaving the bathroom to enter the confines of a sleeping bag didn’t improve anything; saying goodnight to Joel proved to be the tipping point and Jamie began to cry uncontrollably. Worried, Joel got his mom, who managed to call his parents citing a “stomachache” as the reason they needed to pick their son up at 10:30 that night.

The car ride was silent; Jamie’s father, at that time an intimidating 6’4” and 300 pounds, stared straight ahead, waves of anger radiating off him and making the pint-sized Jamie feel small and ashamed. When they arrived home he ran into his mother’s waiting arms, tearful and grateful, when they were both slammed to the floor by his father. He’d broken the chair on which the pair sat, finally setting his anger free. He called Jamie a loser, an idiot, an embarrassment; his mother an enabler who gave him one pitiful scrawny child he was better off without. When she opened her mouth to speak, he raised his hand as if to hit her and she yelled for Jamie to go to his room. He could still hear them fighting even with his head buried under his pillow. It was that night that changed everything. His small fists balled tight, he vowed to never be weak again.

And for the first time in his life, Jamie slept like a baby.

Part Seven: The Apartment

Maggie and Jamie shared an apartment, but one would not know a woman lived there. Maggie was relegated to three dresser drawers and a nightstand, any feminine touches she offered deemed “tacky” or “cheap”. (Jamie’s words. She thought grey was a nice, neutral color and light woods would brighten the space, but whatever.) So she walked into their living room every night feeling like a guest, removing her shoes upon entry and hanging her coat in the “junk closet”. Someone might think it weird that Jamie would hide her, accuse him of bringing other women to the apartment. Whenever Maggie thought about that possibility, she realized she didn’t care. She’d emotionally checked out of the relationship a long time ago and accepted that everything Jamie did was to make her feel small. He wanted to shrink her down as much as possible, make her feel as worthless as he could, in the hopes that she would never leave him. Acquiescing came easy to her; she knew how to fill her eyes with tears every time he called her stupid and blush profusely whenever he pointed out a flaw of hers. Little did he know, none of his antics worked. Maggie pretended, but a man so desperate to control another person lost all of their credibility in her eyes. Would a man like that cheat? Maybe. Probably. But if he did, it said everything about him and nothing about her. If his only value stemmed from hurting her he was actually pretty cheap.

So why stay, one might ask. Because it was easy. There was no way she could afford this apartment on her own and when she’d come to Laurel she wasn’t exactly flush with cash. She’d needed a place, he’d pretended to be nice and two weeks later she was out of the motel and in his apartment.  It was fast, yes, but a means to an end and all that. It wasn’t until she’d gotten settled in (and maybe a little bit hopeful that her luck was changing) that he’d shown the first signs of being a monster. It happened quickly; she’d left an ice tray in the freezer half empty. Maggie had never met a person this would bother but Jamie was furious. He called her lazy and irresponsible and all kinds of names that didn’t make sense considering the offense. It was then that she recognized what she was dealing with; hanging her head low, eyes to the floor (because this is the game, right?) she apologized profusely and said it would never happen again. And it wouldn’t.

Until she could afford to leave.

And then, game on.

Part Six: A Memory

It felt like they’d been running forever, their lungs burning with a combination of exertion and years of misuse. Even though it started like any other night, somehow they found themselves running through the woods parallel to the road they’d taken to get to the party.

“I think we have to stop. I can’t go on anymore.”

“And do what? They’re still behind us. If we stop running who knows what will happen.”

“It feels like we’re going to die either way. I can’t breathe.” As if to demonstrate this point, they bent over, hands on their knees, the only sound for miles that of crickets and two out of breath teenagers.

“How did this happen? I thought we were having fun.”

“Yeah me too. But you never know with them. One minute you’re laughing like old friends, the next-“

“You’re running for your life.”

(A twig snaps in the distance. Both teens stand at high alert, one signaling silence to the other. They wait a moment.)

“We can’t stay in here forever. Maybe we should walk on the highway and someone will pick us up.”

“That doesn’t sound safe at all. It sounds like guaranteed abduction. And I don’t know about you but I’d like to finish my senior year.”

“Then you tell me: how do we make it out of here alive?”

(The pair stare at each other in the darkness. No one has an answer. Before they can start walking again they hear another twig snap and a rustle of clothes. A gleeful voice answers the question still hanging on the air.)

“I don’t think you do.”

Part Five: Cake

It’d been a tough road. No one ends up waitressing at Cup and Sup because life was easy. Still, Maggie approached each day with a smile on her face. “I’m lucky,” she thought. I have a boyfriend. I have a job. I have a place to sleep at night. I have access to unlimited strawberry cheesecake. “What else could I want?” “A lot” was the response she usually received, but on sunny days like this one, even the negative voice in her head couldn’t stop her from being optimistic. This new town, this new life, she was going to make it work this time. This time, the darkness wouldn’t find her, wouldn’t creep into the edges of her vision, making it impossible to see an easy way out- no! This time, this Maggie would have peace.

“So can I get the cake, or are you all out?”

Maggie was pulled from her thoughts to find two customers staring at her, one with their mouth agape, having just spoken, the other gripping the counter for dear life.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said, can I get the cake, or are you all out?”

“The death by chocolate?”
A deep huff preceded the”yes” the customer reluctantly provided. In a moment, Maggie sized him up. Five foot ten inches, 160 pounds, light brown hair, scar through his eyebrow, five o’clock shadow coming in aggressively. Grey and blue plaid flannel shirt, black pants, tan line from a removed wedding band.

“Let me check the back.” Pasting on her biggest smile, Maggie made her way to the dessert fridge and grabbed a slice of chocolate cake. She returned to the customer, still smiling.

“Will that be all?”

“No, I asked for coffee an hour ago and I’m still waiting on it.” She felt her smile fall slightly at his tone, but she quickly gathered herself.

“Of course, I’m so sorry about that.”

(So sorry even though you’ve only been here ten minutes. So sorry even though I get off work in an hour. So so so sorry. So happy to be of service. Thank you for this opportunity to demonstrate patience. Thank you so so so much!)

Maggie’s eyes shifted to the man in the corner. They made eye contact for a moment, glanced at the incredibly rude customer, and looked back at each other. She smiled again.

“Will that be all?”

“Just the check,” he said, spraying her with a mix of coffee and cake that landed on her uniform, the stains reminding her so much of the darkness that creeps into her vision when she’s angry.

“Absolutely. I’ll grab that for you right now.”

(No trouble at all. No trouble at all. No trouble at all.)

Right. 

Part Four: Silence

Dolores had worked at Cup and Sup for a long time; she’d seen waitresses come and go, short order cooks give up, owners toss the baton and served every type of customer imaginable. She was old school; she knew how to do her job and do it well, and she left all of her personal issues at the door. Anything outside of the diner didn’t matter when she was enclosed in those walls, and nothing inside traveled home with her. She was always on time, always personable, always, always, always whoever someone needed her to be. You needed an ear to listen to your pregnancy concerns? Dolores was a doula. Having car trouble? Dolores was a mechanic who knew a guy who knew guy that could tow you in under five minutes. Nervous about the future? Dolores was a psychic, and honey, everything was going to be just fine. Wearing all these hats, changing characters with every glance over her shoulder, would’ve exhausted most people; for her, it made the adrenaline flow through her veins. The moment she crossed the threshold, she was seventeen again; the aches and pains of her sixty year old body remained outside with yesterday’s French fries.

Of course, no job is perfect, and Cup and Sup could be no different. There was always one dark cloud, hovering in a corner three times a day, forty five minutes (exactly) at a time: Dave. When he first started coming in, Dolores tried to be sweet, read what the man needed but she was met with a wall. A silent wall that made everyone in the room disappear, and her afraid for her life. It wasn’t what he did that made her uncomfortable, it’s what he didn’t do. He didn’t smile. He avoided eye contact. Worst of all, he didn’t move. She wasn’t exaggerating or hallucinating: from the time Dave sat down to the time he stood up, he did not move his body. He ate with his right hand, drank from his mug with his right hand, all while holding a death grip on the counter with his left. He was wound like a trap, waiting to spring on the next unsuspecting soul to enter his orbit. Well, Dolores hadn’t made it this far working in a small town in a dusty diner by turning off her street smarts. She took his order, sure to keep her eyes on her notepad. She put his food in front of him, never breaking eye contact with the plate. For once in her life, Dolores realized the only way to protect both of them was to hold herself apart. She couldn’t be his mother, his friend, his confidant, no; she could and would only be his waitress.

So on Maggie’s first day, Dave wasn’t the only one who was dismayed. Dolores saw the moment Dave’s trap sprung, as Maggie showed off white teeth and brilliant brown eyes. The poor girl didn’t stand a chance; before she could finish taking his order, Maggie was caught in a series of carefully laid ropes, springs and duct tape. And she didn’t even know it.

Part Three: Chip

Jamie wasn’t angry. Why should he be? Everything was going as well as it could for someone like him. He was an only child with a pushover of a mother that adored him and a father who was a high school linebacker; a giant of a man who taught him that you didn’t need to hit someone to get your way- but it was always an option. Most people hate confrontation, but that’s where Jamie thrived. You want to cut him off in traffic? No problem; he’d just follow you until you apologized. You want to close the elevator doors instead of hold them? Don’t worry, you’ll see him everyday for the next week and he will make sure you are always late for work. In the office, he was one of the highest paid most feared supervisors; one toe out of line and you’d lose your whole foot.

Jamie had been called a lot of things in his life: crazy, out of control, an overcompensating idiot who wouldn’t amount to anything (thanks Dad). It didn’t bother him; he knew exactly how to make the world bend to his will. He couldn’t make himself taller, but he could pack 250 pounds of muscle on his five foot seven inch frame. He couldn’t play basketball, but he could drive a better car than any player in the NBA. He couldn’t make people look up to him, but he could wield his power and wealth in a way that meant he looked down on everyone as far as his eyes could see. The only imperfection that he could fix but hadn’t was Maggie. She was too soft, too giving, too much like his mom for him to love her and respect her at the same time. So he chose to do neither, keeping her around to hopefully, one day, toughen her up the way he wished he could’ve toughened his mom up all those years ago, before… just before. No sense in dwelling on it.  

Some people told Jamie he walked around with a chip on his shoulder. Jamie decided if that were true, it was a 24 karat gold diamond encrusted chip. And who wouldn’t show that off?

Part Two: Sparkle

Dave knew. Dave tried. He really did. But his brain didn’t work like other people’s. His mama called him “special;” his grandmother said “unique”. His father thought he was a creep, and most days Dave agreed. So he tried not to look at anyone, tried not to notice the way a woman smelled or how strong a man appeared. He tried not to become obsessed with a voice or mull over a conversation or hope that someone might see him as a love interest. After high school and all the trouble he got into there, he kept his head down and found a routine that worked for him. Same meals, same job, same people. It was boring but it was safe. He’d learned from his grandmother that it might be best to stick to small groups like immediate family and tiny groups of friends. This meant no parties, no family reunions, no large crowds. His instinct to obsess and the likelihood someone would sparkle (the term he came up with after his classmate Terri caught his eye in the fourth grade) was tamped down and put away when he kept it safe.

So imagine his dismay when he returned to his favorite diner and finds a new waitress; her voice like wind chimes, her smile like a sunrise, and her scent wrapping around him like grandma’s Thanksgiving Day apple pie. Dave tried, he really did, but he had to meet her eyes at some point. When she came by to take his order on the end stool where he always sat, shadowing Dolores (a woman who definitely did not sparkle), he looked into her brown eyes and lost it. She didn’t just sparkle, she glowed like she was his own ray of light, come down to earth to guide him through life. He couldn’t help himself; all those years of being safe spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them and little did Maggie know, she was officially his obsession.

To his credit, he had tried.

It just couldn’t work forever. 

Part One: The Start

Most stories say “it didn’t start off this way.” But this one did; you see, from the very beginning he’d been a problem. It wasn’t just the leering or the age difference, it was the clear danger he presented just by visiting her at work. Maggie was no stranger to possessive men, in fact, she was in a relationship with one when Dave first decided he liked her. Jamie was a small man who took his height as a personal attack and used it as an excuse to terrorize the world. It was pathetic, Maggie would realize in hindsight, that one, Jamie thought so highly of himself that he assumed someone would care about his size, or two, that she thought herself special enough to heal the chip on his shoulder. If she couldn’t do it for her father, what made her think she could do it for Jamie? But again, this was hindsight. Where we meet Maggie is in the present; we encounter her as a woman blissfully unaware of the horror that awaits her.

Spotlight

Setting: A blank, dark stage. There is a closed wooden door in the center. A spotlight comes up, the light barely reaching the door. The door creaks open and a figure enters. We see their shadow, but they never truly reach the light. They move throughout their monologue, the spotlight shifting to stay just out of reach.

FIGURE

I’m sorry to just walk in but I was calling out on the other side of the door, and no one answered, so I tried the knob and the door opened and now I’m here. (Small laugh. Silence.) I’m sorry, it’s just that, I could’ve sworn I heard someone say my name. Maybe you were talking to someone else, or I misheard you, but… I could’ve sworn I heard it clear as day. And I was out there, minding my business and then I heard- is someone in trouble? Does someone need me out there?

(Silence. They lift their hand to shield their eyes from the spotlight.)

This- this light, I can’t see you or anything else. I’m here to help if you need me. I am an EMT after all- well, I used to be. But I work in the emergency room now, so it is really hard to shock me, so don’t be afraid, okay? Don’t be afraid to step into the light.

(They try to walk into the spotlight but it moves every time they get close.)

Alright well… something isn’t right here. I can’t see you and you can’t reach me and we don’t hear each other but I could’ve sworn… maybe I was wrong.

(The figure moves toward the door, opens it to leave.)

Well if you need any help, just say my name. It’s Breonna.

(They exit. After a moment the spotlight goes out.)

The End