Since their meetings were at various times of the day, opportune moments when she knew her husband wasn’t likely to come home and find her not there, Elijah had seen her taking both of these medications at one point or another.
So her reason for going off the deep-end seemed odder still. She had acted frightened of Michael. Barring the last time when Elijah had seen her with scratches on her arms, he’d never seen a bruise or cut on her. That meant Michael was an emotional and not a physical bully. Yet the scratches still presented Elijah with confusion. If they hadn’t come from Michael, where had they come from?
Elijah pulled his pickup to the side of the road, and shut off the engine. He closed his eyes and forced his mind back to that day when she’d arrived unexpectedly at his home.
He envisioned opening the door to her, seeing her trembling on the stoop, her arms wrapped around her middle as if she were holding herself together. She was sweating, and he’d fetched her some water. Her medication posed itself a threat to her overheating and fluids were important. She had taken a sip, and sat down on his small brown sofa, her knees practically knocking.
Elijah remembered sitting next to her, afraid to touch her or get too close because she seemed so unaware of what was real and what wasn’t. But worse still was that his words weren’t getting through to her. She’d become more and more depressed the last two weeks, with constant thoughts on all the things that were wrong in her life.
Mostly though, she feared losing her children. That was perhaps her biggest fear of all. She would cry spontaneously as haunting visions of her children being taken from her hit her repeatedly. Sometimes it took hours to calm her down. She loved those kids more than anything else.
More than Michael.
And much more than Elijah.
That seemed important. A thought which should be acknowledged.
Delores was bored with her life, he knew that. She wanted more. Yet she would have done anything for her children. Been anything for them. And she would have stayed with Michael for them if she thought it were in their interest. She knew it wasn’t.
She knew that both her children and she were better off without him.
A breeze trailed in through the open window. Elijah opened his eyes and looked out of the windshield. He’d parked far enough to Michael’s offices to stay hidden from view, but close enough that he would be able to see anyone coming or going. He had no idea what he was doing here, or what hunch he was following, only that he was indeed following a hunch.
Delores had spilled many secrets about her husband. It was as if the relief of being able to say these things out loud was unravelling the burden she felt. Elijah now knew enough to know that Michael was a bad character. Not only was he controlling and devious, but he was manipulative and deceitful. He was a man that was used to having his cake and eating it.
At that moment, Elijah watched Michael walk across the street. He was carrying a small brown paper bag. Elijah squinted at the logo on the side of the bag and made a note of it in his pad. Michael, unaware of being watched, entered his building with his sandwich bag in hand and a scowl on his face.
Elijah started up his pickup and drove around the block before parking in the shade. He got out of his pickup and headed into the small delicatessen. The smell of cooked meats and cheeses, of warm breads and hot coffee hung in the air like thick cigarette smoke. Behind the counter was an older lady with soft grey curls and a kind face. She looked up at Elijah as he entered, watching him as he looked around the small shop with curiosity.
“What can I help you with?” the aged voice questioned soothingly.
“Looking for some lunch,” Elijah patted his stomach and smiled. “Sick of burgers and fries ruining my waistline,” he said, his smile widening.
The older woman laughed. “Well, I’m not sure that I can help with the waistline, but I can make a sandwich that’ll please the taste buds.” She grinned.
Elijah made his way over to the glass counter and nodded. “Sounds good. Gimme whatever you’d have.”
“Now I just told you that these sandwiches aren’t always good for the waistline,” she tutted. Her face was wrinkled, lines of life blended into her skin.
“Okay.” Elijah smile widened. “Make me whatever your last customer had then.”
“It’s Officer Schiver, right?” she asked, and for a moment Elijah worried that she somehow knew what had been going on between him and Delores. That she somehow knew his darkest secrets.
Elijah nodded. “Here to protect and serve, even on my day off, ma’am,” he laughed lightly, nervously. “Everything okay?”
“Well I’m Mrs. Seager, and this one will be on the house, Officer. Christine!” she called to someone else as Elijah protested.
“That’s really not necessary,” Elijah protested, relief flooding him.
“Nonsense, it’s the least I can do.” Mrs. Seager grinned. “Perhaps you can take some leaflets to give out at the station?”
Elijah laughed, color returning to his cheeks. “Sure, I can do that.” His gaze flitted sideways as another woman entered the small shop from a back room. His breath caught in his throat, his unspoken words choking him, as the woman turned to him, long brown hair that skimmed along a slender pale back and dark brown eyes.
“Christine, Officer Schiver would like a sandwich, what was it that you just made for Mr. Stanton?” Mrs. Seager asked. “You always make his orders for him.”
The younger woman—the younger, saner version of Delores—stared back at Elijah with unblinking eyes. She swallowed, her face frozen in panic, the color draining from her face.
“Christine? Are you okay?” Mrs. Seager stepped forwards and placed a hand on her daughters’ forehead. “Can’t feel a temperature, but you sure are pale.”
