Chapter 12
Kate lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She hadn't yet emerged from the helpless state into which she had descended three days ago, when Charles left. She hadn't heard from him. She checked the caller ID religiously. The only people that ever called were her mother and Arlene. She didn't bother with them anymore. She simply didn't care.
She lay a few more minutes, thinking about this. Arlene. Her mother. This was who she'd had before Charles had come into her life. She needed to talk to them. Maybe they'd even help her look for him. She already knew her mother's response. Her mother would always tell her to think about the future, when this would all go away and seem a tiny speck of her past.
But she didn't want it to go away. She wanted Charles, she told herself. She wouldn't talk to her mother then. She wouldn't say anything useful anyway. She'd probably be more concerned about her son's murderer than Kate's runaway boyfriend. The phone rang. Kate listlessly flung an arm onto the telephone and picked it up for the first time in three days.
"Hello?" she said monotonously.
"Kate? Is that you? Are you okay? What happened? I've been trying to reach you for days!"
"I know. I was asleep."
"That's a long time to be asleep, Kate."
"Yeah."
There was a pause before Arlene spoke again, "Kate?"
"Yes, I'm here."
"What. . .what do you know about Charles?"
"What?" Kate asked, with a crack in her voice.
"You know, Charles. . .weren't you dating him?"
Kate wiped one of her eyes, "Yes, I suppose."
"Did he seem. . .suspicious?"
"Suspicious? Why the hell would he seem suspicious?" Kate demanded angrily.
"Well. . .he. . ."
"What?!"
"They think . . .He murdered your brother, Kate."
Kate sat up, "Arlene, this isn't funny. This is so not funny!" Kate screamed, "What kind of sick person are you to play a god damned joke at a time like this?"
"It's not a joke, Kate! I have to tell you this; your mother's been trying to reach you for three days!"
"It's not a joke," Kate repeated.
"It's not a joke. Charles is a murderer."
"No he's not. They've got the wrong guy," Kate insisted.
"They've got a phone conversation. It's Charles's voice, it's from Charles's apartment."
"From when?"
"Three days ago. In the morning," Arlene clarified.
". . .In the morning?"
"7:37, to be precise."
". . .I was there. I was asleep."
"You mean he's been murdering people right under your nose?"
"No! I saw him almost every day after the funeral, he couldn't have!"
"He murdered Andrew before the funeral, obviously."
"Shut up!"
"Kate! Would you stop thinking about yourself for a second! Your brother is dead because that sick son of a bitch killed him! Murdered him!"
"Stop!" Kate screamed. She broke out into sobs, "Stop telling me this! I don't want to know!" She slammed the phone down on its charger. In frustration, she picked it up again and threw it into the window, where it ricocheted onto the floor.
She threw herself forward onto the bed and remained there, crying into the comforter.
An hour passed. Kate had cried herself dry. However, she had come to a decision. She would find Charles. She needed him, somehow, either to shoot him or hold him. She retrieved the phonebook and began to dial every hotel listed.
Kate lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She hadn't yet emerged from the helpless state into which she had descended three days ago, when Charles left. She hadn't heard from him. She checked the caller ID religiously. The only people that ever called were her mother and Arlene. She didn't bother with them anymore. She simply didn't care.
She lay a few more minutes, thinking about this. Arlene. Her mother. This was who she'd had before Charles had come into her life. She needed to talk to them. Maybe they'd even help her look for him. She already knew her mother's response. Her mother would always tell her to think about the future, when this would all go away and seem a tiny speck of her past.
But she didn't want it to go away. She wanted Charles, she told herself. She wouldn't talk to her mother then. She wouldn't say anything useful anyway. She'd probably be more concerned about her son's murderer than Kate's runaway boyfriend. The phone rang. Kate listlessly flung an arm onto the telephone and picked it up for the first time in three days.
"Hello?" she said monotonously.
"Kate? Is that you? Are you okay? What happened? I've been trying to reach you for days!"
"I know. I was asleep."
"That's a long time to be asleep, Kate."
"Yeah."
There was a pause before Arlene spoke again, "Kate?"
"Yes, I'm here."
"What. . .what do you know about Charles?"
"What?" Kate asked, with a crack in her voice.
"You know, Charles. . .weren't you dating him?"
Kate wiped one of her eyes, "Yes, I suppose."
"Did he seem. . .suspicious?"
"Suspicious? Why the hell would he seem suspicious?" Kate demanded angrily.
"Well. . .he. . ."
"What?!"
"They think . . .He murdered your brother, Kate."
Kate sat up, "Arlene, this isn't funny. This is so not funny!" Kate screamed, "What kind of sick person are you to play a god damned joke at a time like this?"
"It's not a joke, Kate! I have to tell you this; your mother's been trying to reach you for three days!"
"It's not a joke," Kate repeated.
"It's not a joke. Charles is a murderer."
"No he's not. They've got the wrong guy," Kate insisted.
"They've got a phone conversation. It's Charles's voice, it's from Charles's apartment."
"From when?"
"Three days ago. In the morning," Arlene clarified.
". . .In the morning?"
"7:37, to be precise."
". . .I was there. I was asleep."
"You mean he's been murdering people right under your nose?"
"No! I saw him almost every day after the funeral, he couldn't have!"
"He murdered Andrew before the funeral, obviously."
"Shut up!"
"Kate! Would you stop thinking about yourself for a second! Your brother is dead because that sick son of a bitch killed him! Murdered him!"
"Stop!" Kate screamed. She broke out into sobs, "Stop telling me this! I don't want to know!" She slammed the phone down on its charger. In frustration, she picked it up again and threw it into the window, where it ricocheted onto the floor.
She threw herself forward onto the bed and remained there, crying into the comforter.
An hour passed. Kate had cried herself dry. However, she had come to a decision. She would find Charles. She needed him, somehow, either to shoot him or hold him. She retrieved the phonebook and began to dial every hotel listed.