Page 41 of Jealous of the Clouds
I never dreamed I’d be staying here. The motel had a reputation as a place for gay orgies and drug use. I don’t know if any of that’s true, as I’ve always come down on the more monogamous side of the gay experience. But did its reputation really matter? Not really—not when all I needed was a safe space away from Josh’s eyes.
Now, looking around the small room, a bit rundown, but cleaner than I’d expected, I thought that Camille maybe had something when she suggested depositing me here for a little while. It simply wasn’t a place, I believed and Camille did too, that Josh would think to come looking, even though it was as obvious as could be. Kind of hiding in plain sight was what we both reasoned.
I prayed she was right. And I prayed that, despite her assurances to the contrary, that Josh had no supernatural link, a sort of psychic Find My Phone to keep his finger on where I was. I also prayed—and I was never one for praying—that he would leave my Camille alone. She didn’t deserve his wrath, his paranoia, his rage. She didn’t even know the man. Now, I was grateful I’d never introduced them. I wondered if my reluctance had something to do with a fear, buried deep within my consciousness, that the pair were better left separated.
It was dark now, and the orange glow of streetlights seeped in through my closed curtains. Camille had taken care of me. When I asked her to go back to her apartment to get a few of the things I’d forgotten, she refused. If I didn’t already know, I knew now that my friend was a thinking-two-steps-ahead kind of woman. “If I go back to my place, get some stuff, and bring it to you, who’s to say he won’t be watching? He could then easily follow me back here.”
So, she’d gone to Target, gotten me a few pairs of underwear, some T-shirts and hoodies, a couple pairs of jeans, toiletries. She’d even ordered a pizza from Giordano’s for me.
She was the mom I didn’t deserve. Or maybe I did deserve her. Angels come in all shapes and sizes.
The hour had grown late and I felt relatively safe in this too-warm motel room. I shed my clothes and crawled under the covers. I used the remote to turn on the old-school TV, thinking I’d be up for hours, mind tortured by fear and suspicion.
But no, the stress of the day had taken its toll. I’d lost the thread of the oldLaw and Order: SVUepisode I was trying to turn my attention to, even if was a bad choice, present circumstances considered. After the third snort and awakening and having no idea what was going on in the episode, I drifted off.
*
Camille walks down her darkened street. The roar of Lake Michigan, just ahead, is her only accompaniment. Until…
Footfalls behind her. The hour is late, the streets relatively empty, even for Chicago.
She pauses. So do the footsteps.
She starts again. So do the footsteps.
She digs into her purse and brings out her keys. She positions each key between her fingers. She’s a woman alone and she can’t be too careful. Not only can she use her keys as a weapon, she’ll also have them at the ready if she needs to get inside her building as fast as possible.
She’s almost there and a prickling sensation at her neck alerts her that someone has drawn even closer. She looks down and in the wan light of a street lamp, spies two shadows.
The time has gone for running. The time has come for confrontation, if she is to stand a chance. She tells herself this could be nothing—a stranger on the same path that she is,headed for the lakefront or a car parked near its edge. She stops, turns.
And he’s there.
Josh.
She doesn’t know why, but she recognizes him immediately.
He smiles, that disarming, handsome grin that she supposes he will think will put her at ease. But she’s not. Her heart pounds.
“What do you want?”
He moves a step closer and she takes a step back.
“Ted—that’s what I want. Make this easy and tell me where he is and I’ll go away.”
She looks down at the ground, then back up at him. “I don’t know where he is.”
“He was staying with you.”
“Yes, but not anymore.” She half turns toward her building—so close, yet so far away.
“I saw you leave with him, Camille. I know you know.” He steps close again and he seems taller somehow, definitely menacing.
She moves toward her building, closer, stumbles. Over her shoulder, “I don’t know. No, sir. I don’t. Now leave me alone or I’ll scream.”
He laughs. “No you won’t.” He draws out a hunting knife and holds it close to her face. “I’ll shut you up real quick. Screams don’t sound too loud if a throat gets cut.” He raises an eyebrow, still smiling.
She thinks of the pepper spray in her purse, how useless it now is.
