Page 43 of Jealous of the Clouds
And all too realistic. A sociopath thinks of no one but himself.
As I rounded the curve where Lake Shore Drive becomes Sheridan Road to eventually head west on Ridge, I prayed we’d find nothing more out of whack than the woman’s cell battery had died, or she’d lost her phone, or she simply was exhausted after dealing with Ted and was sleeping late.
And yet, my crime podcaster self couldn’t hold back the image of a female corpse lying in a pool of blood on some living room floor, her body riddled with stab wounds, all because she happened to be friends with the wrong person.
I shook my head, trying to clear it of the imagery. But when you do what I do for a living—so inextricably linked with the world of true crime—it’s way too easy to imagine the worst. My dreams are composed of death and dismemberment, not sunshine and rainbows.
Before I knew it, I pulled into the rarity of a Chicago parking lot that was spacious and didn’t charge for the privilege of putting one’s car there. Ted was in a second-story room and I looked up for the number as I exited my car.
The day was saying that even though the calendar maintained it was autumn, winter had come to Chicago, not right on time, but early as was its custom almost every year. I don’t know why we’re always surprised. Despite the diresituation and the discomfort of the cold, I kind of liked it. The chill off the lake, a couple miles over, was invigorating. The snowflakes dancing in the air, no serious threat, harkened back to my childhood and the freedom of snow days. Even the dark skies, heavy with charcoal clouds, seemed dramatic, ready for Ansel Adams’ camera.
I dashed up the stairs, two at a time, both because the situation was an emergency and demanded haste, but also because I couldn’t wait to see Ted.
I’d made it a policy since the very beginning of my podcast and even before, when I covered the crime beat for theChicago Tribune, to never allow myself to get too emotionally involved with my contacts. It was a recipe for disaster, an enemy of objectivity.
But, as they say, the heart wants what it wants.
Although I’d yet to admit it to him, Ted was whatmyheart wanted. Even if he wasn’t in peril, I would have thought of him nearly every waking moment, as I did now. There was no denying it. I’d fallen for the guy, which only served to ramp up my protective instincts.
I wanted to clear up this nightmare because it was right, on the side of goodness and safety, but also because I needed life to return to some semblance of normal. Why? So I’d have the chance to do normal, stupid things in the name of romance—candlelight dinners, walks on the beach, silly Hallmark cards, red roses, and yes, passionate kisses that would be akin to spiderwebs: both leading to the undoing of a fly.
He must have heard me coming. Or maybe he sensed it through a telepathic connection? Silly. I didn’t believe in such things. Yet I so wanted to, especially in this situation.
There he was, his hair tousled, barefoot, and waving. He wasn’t smiling, but the vision of him, so near, almost sucked the breath right out of me.
He turned so I could follow him into the room. Again, I wished these were normal times and this was a booty call and not a rescue mission for a woman whose fate may have already been sealed.
We can’t be too late for Camille. We just can’t.
Inside the room, Ted fell into my arms. Again, my subconscious, and even my conscious, longed for a different scenario than the one before us. I reveled in the feel of him, strong and solid, against my chest. I pulled away before that revelation morphed into full-on arousal. I was ashamed to admit to myself I was already halfway there.
“We need to get over there,” I whispered in his ear, reluctant to pull away but knowing it was absolutely necessary. I forced myself out of his clinging grasp, as much as I hated to.
He sort of stumbled back and away, his eyes wide. “What if it’s too late?” he gasped. “Besides, didn’t you say it was a bad idea to go to her? That Josh could be there and see us?”
“I know, I know. But what else can we do? We’ll be stealthy,” I said, trying to convey a confidence and faith I didn’t feel. I drew in a deep breath and decided this wasn’t a time for platitudes or trying to smooth over a perilous situation—I needed to respond honestly to his true concern. “Then it’s too late. Ted, there’s nothing either of us can do to change what’s real. We can hope for the best. We can hope that we’re panicking over nothing. Worrying or dread won’t change facts.”
My words conjured up a vision of Reggie, one I’d never seen, except in nightmares—his body spread out on oily bricks, his blood pooling in the cracks, eyes staring upward at nothing. “Let’s go.”
*
As we drove over, the snow flurries changed to a sleety, needle-like sleet that tapped on my windshield, icy fingernails. We were silent as we made our way through the mid-afternoon traffic, both, I suppose, immersed in similar thoughts and fears. At one point, a car in front of us on Sheridan lost control and slid in a circle, traversing all four lanes of north-south traffic. A part of me wished the car would hit us, end this insanity.
And then I realized how insane my thought was. I concentrated on the rhythmic swish of my wiper blades.
Get through this. There’s light at the end of this tunnel. I glanced over at Ted and thought how he was the light. There could be a future with this man, once the trauma of our current situation was over.
We just have to live through it.
“She’s going to be all right,” Ted finally said as we turned off Sheridan Road on to Camille’s little one-block street ending at the lakefront. “She’ll be just fine.” Her yellow brick courtyard building was on the right. “She’s going to be all right,” he repeated. I realized his words were a mantra, a prayer.
“Of course she is.” I glanced around nervously, expecting to see Josh standing in the freezing rain, hands in pockets, watching us.
But the street was deserted. Still, I had an idea. I turned the car around, heading back out toward busy Sheridan. “Let’s approach a little more stealthily.”
Ted caught on immediately. “Good idea.”
I continued west and parked the car a few blocks over. “I wish the weather was better, but we can’t be too careful. We’ll walk down the street south of her and come at her building from the back, by the beach. You have the key, right?”
