Page 62 of Jealous of the Clouds
“I just want things to be over.” She looked at each of us in turn. She smiled. “It needs to end here. I’m so tired. I have nothing left…not now.”
“What do you mean?” Ted asked.
If Shondell answered, it was only in the most oblique way. “If I promise you you’ll all make it out of here alive, will you do as I say? Please.”
We hurried to assent, to agree to whatever she wanted. But what would that be?
“No matter what?” She was already moving out of the sunroom, holding the hunting knife in front of her like a shield.
We did nothing, save for staring. We were too numb, too shocked to contemplate more. And too damn scared…
She moved into Karl’s bedroom. She paused in the doorway—but there was no hesitancy, only resolve—and gave the most melancholy smile I’ve ever seen. Pain and regret flickered across her features like images on a movie screen.
“I was wounded quite young.” She showed us the scars on her arms. We’d never discover what those scars were from. I didn’t know if I could bear the story behind them. Sometimes, things are better left buried.
With a final look at each of us, she closed the door.
There was silence for a long while. Later, I would liken it to the calm before the storm, the still preceding a house-shaking clap of thunder.
At last we heard something—strains of music, soft but enough for me to discern. I’ve long been a fan of opera and I immediately recognized Madame Butterfly and its famous aria, “Un Bel dì Vedremo,” or, in English, “One Fine Day We Will See.” The music sounded tinny as though coming from the speaker of a phone, muffled through the door.
I cocked my head.
What was happening? Why was she playing music at a time like this? Ice ran through my veins and something inside screamedthis will not end well.
I didn’t know if it was safe to do, but I took the moment of being unwatched to take my phone out, disconnect from Ted, and to call 911. I moved close to the front door, farthest from the bedroom, and whispered to the dispatcher, “There are three of us here and there’s a crazy woman threatening us with a knife. Please send help. Hurry.” I gave her the address and she asked me to stay on the line.
I dropped the phone though, when I heard Shondell’s first scream, quickly followed by another. The screams were piercing and high-pitched. They were those of a wounded animal in great pain.
Then again—silence.
Karl, Ted, and I—as one—hurried to the closed door. It was locked. Karl moaned in frustration. And then I could see he had an idea. He reached up to the doorframe and pulled down a small key.
He put it in the keyhole and turned.
The door swung open.
Karl gripped me tight.
I tried to swallow, but couldn’t find any saliva. I could barely find breath.
Shondell sat against the wall, just next to the window overlooking the high-rise next door.
Both her wrists were slit.
The knife lay next to her.
Blood pooled on the floor beneath her. And this time, it was no hallucination.
It was over.
I turned to Ted, who was shaking so badly, I feared his legs wouldn’t support him for much longer. I wrapped him in a tight embrace, turning both of us away from the crimson-stained vision.
Epilogue
Karl
“Meat Locker: Cold Cases” Episode No. 77
