For the next three nights, the little girl failed to make an appearance, though Romy kept the window cracked open a few inches, letting in the pleasantly balmy night air.
It was nearing May, and positive virus cases had climbed so high in the city that most of it was shut down. Even here in the country, things had changed. Restaurants could only have thirty percent capacity. Gyms and schools were closed. There were no live events. Most people were working from home.
And positive cases had been identified in Glass Town—approximately two hundred of them. It seemed there was no mass of populated land on the planet that would be immune.
She’d also finally agreed that she and Heath could sleep in her grandmother’s bedroom. She’d ordered a mattress online and two masked men had delivered it, leaving it outside.
She’d spent two days taking down all of the framed photos on her grandmother’s wall, wrapping and storing them, and giving the room a deep clean with the bleach-infused spray she’d finally snagged at the grocery store. It was the last one on the shelf, and she felt almost as if she’d found a nugget of pure gold.
The room still felt like her grandmother—Romy could swear she still smelled her, as if her molecules were embedded in the walls—but she figured nothing was ever going to change that. Now her plan was to paint the room, and she was in the midst of checking out colors online, leaning towards a cheery yellow to offset the doom of the world outside.
She had to admit having a queen-size bed was heavenly. Not only for all the things she and Heath could comfortably do to each other on a larger bed—and they did quite a lot—but how they could stretch and laze and have their own space, as well as curl into each other and cuddle.
But Romy made sure to draw the musty drapes when they got physical. Real or not, a freaky-eyed little girl leering at them when they had sex was a real mood killer.
Romy slept on the window side and did everything in her power to summon the girl in her mind in order to do what Loretta had suggested and confront the girl.
Tell the girl—tell herself—that she was forgiven for what she’d done.
Despite Loretta’s contention that the little girl was nothing but a mirage, a visual symptom of Romy’s guilty conscience, the idea still terrified her. But it was the only thing that gave her any hope the situation would go away.
It felt like every hour, she startled awake and stared out the window, heart pounding, silently urging the specter to appear. But for three nights, the rectangle of moonlit space remained empty and she dared to hope the issue had corrected itself.
But on the fourth night, she awoke out of a fitful sleep, thinking she’d heard something outside. She stared at the window, clawing the sheets, bracing herself for seeing that otherworldly, alienesque little face and radiating blue eyes.
Instead, she saw a head of blonde hair pass by the window. Pass quickly by and not look inside. Romy’s breathing quickened and she forced herself to quietly get up and move out of the room, closing the door behind her so as to not wake Heath.
As she approached the darkened living room, she saw Mack standing rigidly at attention, staring towards the door. He too had sensed the little girl. What did this mean? Wouldn’t he only be standing alert if the girl was real?
Romy grabbed the flashlight from where she kept it ready, new batteries installed, on the kitchen island, and walked to the door. “Down, Mack,” she hissed.
She turned the lock and it made a metallic click, then she grasped the doorknob and turned it as soundlessly as she could. Keeping the front light off, she opened the wooden door and saw nothing through the screen. Still, she sensed a presence in the dark.
“Hello,” she called softly, the adrenaline of fear lighting up every part of her body. She thought if the little girl’s ghostly face appeared in front of her, she would probably drop dead of fright.
“Are you there?” she asked in a husky whisper. “I know you’re me. I—know why you’re here.”
Mack stood next to her and let out a long, low growl. “Mack, go lie down!” she commanded, pushing him back with her palm. He shuffled off.
Romy still saw nothing outside, only heard the shrill racket of cicadas and crickets livening the still night. A breeze rustled through the screen door.
“Little girl?” Romy asked, tone rising, a feeling of ridiculousness beginning to poke through the fear. “It’s okay. I—I forgive you.”
She opened the screen door several inches and peered outside into the dark. She thought she saw something small and white on the lawn near the lilac bush.
It could be a stone or… a foot.
“Little girl? I for—”
Mack slammed by her and was out the door.
“Mack!” she yelled, stumbling onto the door. “Goddamn it!”
Turning on her flashlight, she was pushing out the screen door when she heard a scream. A female’s scream. She froze. Mack was somewhere in the dark. Growling.
“Help!” Romy heard. “Get this fucking dog off me! Help!”
Romy rushed forward, sweeping the flashlight’s beam from side to side. The little girl wasn’t a little girl. Romy could tell by the voice. And she was painfully real.
“Mack!” Romy hollered, trying to track the sound of his growls.
On the opposite side of the lilac bush, the flashlight’s beam picked up Mack on top of… a blonde woman. A teen? Definitely not a little girl.
“Mack!” Romy ordered harshly, giving her voice as much authority as she could manage. “Down!”
She got up to the pair and dragged him back by his thick collar. She could definitely see that the woman on the ground was an adult. Romy feared she might see blood and what that could mean for Mack but it was too dark to tell how much damage he might have inflicted, and the woman was wearing long, dark sleeves.
“Romy!” It was Heath’s voice. “Romy!”
“I’m over here!” she called.
The woman was crawling along the lawn. Her clothing was all black, so Romy could only see her blonde hair in a ponytail and her pale hands.
“Who are you?” she screeched at the stranger. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“Are you kidding,” Romy heard and turned around. Heath was standing nearby, naked, his manhood dangling. He was stock-still and appeared shocked.
“Heath…” she gasped. “Don’t... ah… you better…”
“Don’t worry, honey,” came the woman’s voice from the ground. “I’ve seen it all before.”
Inside the house, the woman sat pressing one hand on her arm, which Mack had bit. Romy found an old tube of antibiotic ointment in the bathroom, handed it to the woman, and watched as she rubbed the ointment on the red mark on her forearm. No doubt the tube had expired but Romy wasn’t about to volunteer this information.
It was now abundantly clear that the intruder, despite being blonde and not brunette, was none other than Tara, Heath’s former fiancée. Romy recognized her from all the time she’d spent staring at her on his social media profile.
Heath disappeared with Mack, then came back out in shorts and his most-worn T-shirt, a faded ocean-blue that brought out his eyes. Mack remained in the bedroom. “What the hell are you doing, Tara?” he demanded.
“That dog,” she said, glaring at him. “You’re lucky I don’t press charges.”
“You’re sneaking around the yard. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you!”
She sulked, keeping her hand pressed on her arm. From what Romy could tell, Tara’s long-sleeved shirt had saved her from a deeper bite. But given Mack’s steel-trap jaw, Romy suspected he’d merely decided to toy with her.
“What are you doing?” Heath repeated. “How did you even find me?”
“The find-your-phone app,” Tara offered. “I’ve been worried about you.”
He pointed at her. “I told you I was fine. I told you to stop calling me.”
Tara turned her ice-blue eyes on Romy. She definitely had a strong resemblance to Misty but the core of Misty—luscious and luminous—wasn’t there. Tara looked rough, like someone you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of. Seemingly not finding anything worth continuing to examine, she brought her attention back to Heath.
“It’s not right how you disappear after three years together,” she said.
“Disappear? I’ve been talking to you. I told you where I was.”
“You said Glass Town but you didn’t say you’d moved in with another woman.” She didn’t bother to look at Romy as she said this. “I don’t think Loretta would approve. You went from me, the Misty clone, to a girl from your childhood.” She brought her turquoise gaze back to Romy and flailed her good arm at her. “Did you know Misty?”
Romy was taken aback to realize that not only had Tara managed to track down Heath’s whereabouts but had uncovered the owner of the house he was in.
“I knew her a little.”
“It’s not healthy, Heath,” Tara said, shaking her head.
Heath cackled as if to say, Can you believe this shit? “You’re a fine one to talk healthy. Stalking and spying on me.” He looked at Romy. “This solves the mystery, I’d say. Look at her, she’s blonde. Why are you blonde, Tara?”
“Because I thought if you saw me on social media looking less like Misty, you’d give us another chance, that’s all,” she said, sounding sad and pathetic, not the fighter she’d appeared a minute ago.
Tara looked so genuinely distraught that Romy felt bad for her. She must have loved Heath as much as Romy did—probably more, given how long they’d lived together. And she clearly still loved him. It wasn’t Tara’s fault he’d chosen her because she looked like Misty, then dumped her for the same reason.
“Unbelievable.” He sighed, throwing his hand through his mussed hair. “You’ve been coming down from Brooklyn to spy on me?”
“No,” she pouted. “From Milton. I moved back home because my dad got sick. I’m helping him out.”
At the word “sick,” Romy and Heath each instantly retreated into the living room’s far corners.
“Not the virus,” Tara stressed. “He has appendicitis, okay? We’ve been quarantining.”
“Well, I’m sorry about your dad,” said Heath. “But this is… How long have you been spying in the window? You’ve been scaring Romy to death.”
“This is the first time,” she insisted, peevishly. She looked down at her arm. “Do you have any Band-Aids?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find any,” Romy said, straining to be polite, worried that Tara might report Mack for biting her. Police may not care that she was trespassing. Mack obviously had a lot of pit bull in him and that was going to work against him. Some places even banned bully breeds and she didn’t know if Glass Town was one of them.
“Is this her?” Heath asked Romy. “The little girl you’ve been seeing?”
Romy peered at Tara more closely. The pale-blonde hair, alabaster skin, and vibrant blue eyes matched—but there was no way. The little girl was so odd-looking and she definitely appeared much younger. Not at all a woman in her twenties.
“I don’t think so,” Romy said, though her voice lacked confidence.
“Little girl?” Tara looked flummoxed. “I only wanted to confirm that you’re living with a woman, Heath. You should have told me that.”
“Why? We’re not together. Haven’t been since December.”
“I’m only saying, it’s not right to ask me to marry you, give me a ring, then run off.”
“I didn’t run off!” Heath said, impatiently. He’d clearly had this discussion or variations on it before. “We talked and talked and you didn’t want to hear it. I said I’m sorry a million times. I don’t know what else to say.”
Tara turned to Romy—her eyes steely. “He’ll do the same to you. He seems all sweet and cute, but he’ll cut you to the bone. He’s in love with a dead girl. His cloud password is Misty Glass. He’s had that password for everything since high school. Who can compete with a dead girl? She makes no demands, has no opinions, and never gets old!”
Romy had to admit Tara was making some valid points.
“Thanks for revealing my password to the world, Tara. Do I need to call you a car or anything? Because you need to go.”
Tara stood, seemingly trying to hike up her dignity. “No. I parked across the street in that ballpark. I don’t know why I’m here. I guess dealing with my dad, losing my job, losing you, this pandemic, I’ve gone a bit nuts.”
“I can show you out,” Romy offered, not thrilled about having to move closer to a maskless woman she’d never met before.
“I’ll do it,” said Heath, seeming to read her thoughts. “Next time you decide to drop by unannounced,” he told her, “at least wear a mask.”
“Goodbye, Heath,” Tara said, sucking in her breath. Then, to Romy, “You’re lucky that dog didn’t break the skin.”
Heath opened the door for her and she disappeared into the night. He closed the door, locked it, and stood staring at it.
“Heath?” Romy prodded.
He turned, exhaustion all over his face. “I can’t deal with this drama,” he sighed, walking down the hallway. He opened the bedroom door and Mack came trotting out as if nothing had happened.
The next morning, Heath was tense and quiet and didn’t want any breakfast. After coffee, Romy retired to her room to work, including on his book cover. She spent a couple of hours looking for a photo of a little blond boy who resembled him when he was a toddler.
There weren’t many children—even child models—who were as beautiful as toddler Heath was, so it wasn’t an easy task. But she found a few that might work.
She wondered how she was ever going to confess to being Golden-Eye. It was bad enough he’d figured out she’d been buying his books—he must already consider her a world-class liar.
She’d put the finishing touches on another client’s cover when he knocked on the door and she quickly shut her laptop. Thank God he was a knocker. She didn’t need him knowing she designed book covers, that might get him introspecting in a way she didn’t want yet.
She turned and smiled at him as he popped his head in but the look on his face conveyed he was about to say something that was going to change everything, and not for the better.
“Listen,” he said, nervously massaging his jaw. “I should head back to the city for a bit. I’ve got tools there I need for these jobs. My belt sander and polisher are too expensive to be going out buying new ones. And I’ve got outstanding jobs I abandoned when I came here. I should get to them.”
She was silent for a few moments, then said, “Why do I get the feeling you’re going for more reason than that?”
He slouched against the doorway, the late morning sun stage-lighting those spellbinding eyes. Sometimes she wondered if he didn’t have those if she’d be so enchanted with his looks.
“I’m sorry Tara showed up,” he said.
“It’s not your fault. I’m only glad Mack didn’t tear her arm off.”
He emitted a burst of edgy laughter, then turned serious again. “It’s got me thinking. Everything she said. How I went from her straight to you. Loretta thinks I’m codependent. She says I need alone time.”
“Loretta wants you to herself,” Romy heard herself snap and immediately regretted it.
“Wow, what?” He shook his head, sadly, as if disappointed that Romy couldn’t see the genius of Loretta. “She’s been so helpful. I used to sleepwalk all the time until we started hypnosis.”
Hypnosis? This was the first Romy had heard about hypnosis but she couldn’t deal with the strangeness of this declaration right when it appeared he was taking off and she didn’t know when or if she’d ever see him again.
“I feel,” he continued, “with you having suspicions about me, and Tara stalking me, I need a little break from women.”
“I don’t suspect you of anything,” she insisted. “I only had some questions.” But even as she said it, she realized it wasn’t completely true.
He looked awkward and fidgety—like he wanted to get away from her. The more he looked like that, shifting restlessly against the doorway, the more she wanted him to go away. It’s better to be alone than to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with you. “Well, I don’t think it’s safe to go back to the city but if you want to go, you should go,” she said.
“I’ll be careful. Going to get my tools, work, and sleep in my room. Avoid my roommate.” He smiled weakly. “Virus can’t come through walls.”
“According to my dad it can,” Romy said, rolling her eyes, and they shared a laugh that made her heart ache.
She already missed him.
Heath wanted to get ahead of traffic—if there was even much traffic these days—so an hour later, he had his things packed and the two of them stood in front of his beat-up old jalopy.
“You’ll be okay without a car?” he asked.
“Yeah, my grandmother’s Volvo still runs, so I might try that even though it’s uninsured. Or I’ll rent a car.”
“You’ll be alright with that little girl running around?” The way he said it made it clear that he, like Loretta, thought the girl was in her mind.
“I’ve got Mack.”
He put his hands on her arms and unexpectedly hugged her. The delicious feel and smell of him made her want to cry. The idea of not seeing him all the time cracked her heart but she also wanted him to leave quickly so she could indulge in a private weeping session.
“Are we breaking up?” she was mortified to hear herself asking. “I mean if we’re even together?”
He held her face in his hands and said, “I have some thinking to do. I need to figure out a way to move on from Misty once and for all. I don’t think the way to do that is being in a relationship, which is what I used to think.”
“What would help you move on?” she asked, hoarsely.
He looked down for a few moments, then past her into the yard, and finally locked her with those peculiarly arresting eyes. “What haunts me is the idea that I didn’t run fast enough on purpose. That I didn’t do all I could on purpose.” He paused, his bottom lip trembling ever-so-slightly. “That’s what haunts me. Because I don’t quite remember it all.”
Romy thought about his wails. The bone-chilling cries of the worst grief imaginable—grief she couldn’t imagine experiencing. She could never forget them. He wouldn’t have made those sounds if he’d wanted Misty to die, would he?
Unless…
“Romy?” he asked.
“Ah,” she said, forcing herself out of the disturbing thoughts threatening to engulf her. “No, um…” She felt herself pulling away from him, couldn’t tolerate the feel of his hands on her.
“Romy,” he said, “can you tell me you don’t wonder the same? I had a ticket to Georgetown. Prelaw.” Then, in a monotone, he gave voice to the very idea that she was trying so hard to shove away. “I knew there was a camera.”
There it was. Those cries of grief, the ones she could still clearly hear if she put her mind to it…
Could it have been an act?
Had Romy inadvertently started something that Heath decided to finish? The opportunity had presented itself, and he’d simply let it play out. There’s no more perfect murder than a death that isn’t planned, just not prevented.
Once he saw Misty was in serious trouble, all he had to do was get to her a little later than he should have. All he had to do was pretend to be blowing air into her lungs, pretend for the camera.
How utterly, ingeniously perfect. A murderer who appears for all the world (or at least the town) like a pitiable victim.
“No, Heath—” Her throat was screwing shut, chills were assailing her body. She shook her head, unable to speak.
He kissed her on the cheek, and she felt herself wince. Then he tossed his two bags into the passenger side, came back around, and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Wait,” she said. “Wait here.”
Spontaneously, she ran to the house and grabbed her apartment keys, which were hanging on the pegs by the door. She jogged back and held them up through the driver’s window. “Stay at my place if you need to get away from your roommate.”
He tried to wave her off but she forced the keys into his hand. “Please? It will make me feel better. The little key is my mail key if you can grab the mail.”
She’d filled out an online change of address form, and mail was beginning to trickle into Sapling Lane but her city mailbox must be stuffed to the point of being useless. “If you see the guy who lives next door, his name is Bill. Tell him I have Mack. Have him call me.”
“Okay,” he said, staring ahead out the windshield. “Thanks. I’ll at least go over and get your mail for you.”
“And you might want to change your password unless you want Tara following you back to the city.”
He looked down at her, smiled a little. “Already did. By the way, Misty’s only my password because I’m really bad at coming up with new ones.” Then he gunned the engine.
Watching the truck carry him away down the hill was a heavy blend of sadness and relief.
That night, she slept on a blanket next to Mack’s dog-smelly pillow. “Are you a lone wolf or a pack animal, Mack?” she murmured into his neck as he nonchalantly licked his paw.