07.16.2008 / EP. 23
Calm Before the Storm
Carrie is a fool, Milly thought, driving home. The more she thought, the moreirritated she became. Irritation transformed itself to self-righteous anger and aheavy foot on the gas pedal. She was driving too fast on slippery pavement.Disapproval of Carrie was no reason to commit suicide. And if she intended to killherself, this was no reason to take innocent others with her. The idea that therewere innocent people in the world made her smile.
She breathed deeply. I am not programmed, I am not a robot, Milly told herself.The lights beside the road, which had begun to fade and blur, reassertedthemselves. She could see lamp posts and billboards again. It was blood rushingto my head, she thought. Carrie expects me to share her wishes and carry themout. It’s better to ignore her presumption, pretend her fantasies don’t exist, decidefor myself what to do. Milly imagined a mannequin, one of the old Parisianmodels, taking an ax to Carrie while she, Milly, sang a love song in a smoky bar.The song relayed a legend of courtship and romance and fidelity, with none ofwhich Milly had great experience.
She pulled off the road and let her pulse steady. It took a few minutes, duringwhich she noticed a pair of headlights pause a hundred yards behind hers. Therewas no reason to be curious. Equally, there was no reason for a car to park,lights on, behind her.
Once an object captures our attention, it is difficult to let it drop. Milly consoledherself with that thought as the headlights persisted in her rear view mirror whileshe made her way home. As a precaution, she parked across from her houseand took a camera from the glove compartment. Was this Kerry checking on her?A stalker? Someone hired by Fred? Had technicians installed spy equipment inher house? She didn’t feel safe, was the result of these events and observations.Perhaps, she reflected, like a dream, the feeling preceded and caused the eventsthat her mind found to explain them. None of this was real: not the car trailing herhomebound, not the doped coffee, not the burglary, not even the wedding. She was undergoing a psychotic interlude. Or, more likely, was lingering in anightmare; the alarm would soon interrupt and the humdrum daily roundcommence. Thankfully, Milly thought.
If this is real, I could change how I treat Fred, Milly reflected. She driftedrandomly in an undifferentiated chaos of substance and dream. Or perhaps Ishould say, if I opt to inhabit dream space, I could treat him better. He doesn’tdeserve to be ignored. He’s an interesting man, smart, busy, well-read. I could doworse. I hope he isn’t upset at having married me. They say the first marriage isthe worst. I could trail that hook past him and see how he responds. I might evengo the length of being affectionate. Men never get over the need for approval. Itoccurred to Milly that revulsion at the marriage might underlie all the otherturbulent events. She’d conjured them out of nowhere to make the universeconsistent and reduce the mental weight of the wedding so she could reject itmore easily. Was the right word deny or reject? That was key.
Milly saw no lights in her house, no cars on the street. She was putting thecamera back in her glove compartment, when a dark car pulled to a stop in frontof her. Someone got out and looked around. It was Pam, whose telephone callhad woken her up and taken her to the Dennis Quall, months ago it seemed. Orwas she still asleep? Milly rejected the possibility. This wasn’t a dream. Heradrenalin flowed. What does Pam want? Why now? Why in person instead ofover the telephone?
Pam transferred something from purse to pocket and raised her collar. Millysnapped a couple of pictures. Another car arrived. Great, we’re having aconvention, said Milly to herself. She got a picture of the licence plate. Someonecalled out to Pam from the second car, but she kept going. A hand grabbedPam’s coat. Milly recorded the scene. She heard pops, like branches snapping ina high wind. The hand let go and Pam leaned into the car. More branchescracked. Pam stepped back, satisfied. She continued to Milly’s front step. Millymanaged a couple of photos of the dead man and stuffed the camera in herpurse while Pam rang her bell.
Milly joined Pam on her doorstep.
“Come into my parlour,” Milly said.
