Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

William

I downed my drink and asked the bartender for another scotch, neat. He raised an eyebrow, but he turned away to fetch my drink without comment. Good. I didn’t need to be judged by some fucking bartender. I mean if it wasn’t for people like me day drinking, then he wouldn’t even have this damned job. He turned back to me and put my drink in front of me. I pushed the money toward him, holding back from giving him a tip for his attitude, and then I picked up my glass and stood up from my barstool. My legs were a little wobbly, but I stayed on my feet easily enough.

I looked around the bar. Two young women were sitting together in a booth, eating breakfast. They looked to be deep in conversation, but I figured I could wangle my way into it. I made my way toward the booth. I smiled down at the women as they peered up at me. I was swaying slightly, but not so much that anyone would notice. Or so I hoped.

One of the women was blonde, her hair curly. The other one was a brunette, her short bob stick-straight. Their hair couldn’t be much more opposite to each other, but their faces wore identical expressions. They both peered up at me in disgust. Stuck up bitches. They’d soon see I was worth their time, though.

“Good morning, ladies,” I said.

I could hear myself slurring my words, and I took a deep breath and tried again.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning,” one of them grunted back.

They turned back away from me, looking at each other and rolling their eyes, and I felt myself getting annoyed. It seemed that college girls weren’t quite such a bunch of good time girls as they would have people believe. These were the third group of girls I’d approached that morning, and the other two groups had turned out to be rude and extremely unsocial. It seemed like maybe these girls were going to be the same, but I wasn’t about to be put off that easily.

“How about a drink?” I slurred with what I hoped was a charming grin.

The one who grunted a reply to me glanced back up at me. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s barely lunch time,” she said.

“Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, right?” I joked.

“Yeah. But not here,” she said.

She looked back at her friend and rolled her eyes again. Rude. I decided to give the girls one last chance to be friendly. I sat down on the edge of the seat beside the blonde girl, putting my drink on the table. She shuffled along and I started to follow, thinking she was making room for me. As I shuffled, my hand caught my glass and the scotch spilled across the table.

“Ugh,” shouted the brunette, jumping up.

Scotch splattered her legs.

“God, do you have to?” she shouted.

“Umm, I’m sorry,” I said.

I got back to my feet and grabbed a napkin from the table and began trying to dry the girl’s legs. She pushed me away roughly and I stumbled slightly .

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she shouted.

“All right, all right,” I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “There’s no need to yell. I’m only trying to help.”

“You wouldn’t have had to help if you hadn’t interrupted us in the first place,” she snapped. She turned to her friend. “Come on, Casey. Let’s get out of here.”

The blonde girl got to her feet. She glanced at me as the girls passed me. She shook her head.

“I can’t believe he was hitting on us. I mean, seriously, how desperate do we look? He’s old enough to be our father, and the fumes of whisky coming off him were just gross.”

I felt a surge of anger in my chest. How dare she laugh at me? How dare she say those things about me? The more I thought about it, though, the more I couldn’t help but think maybe she was right. I was old enough to be her father, and the day drinking was making me look kind of pathetic.

The notion didn’t stop me from wanting another drink, though, and I headed back to the bar. The bartender didn’t even bother with the raised eyebrow this time. He just handed me my drink. I tipped him this time.

I sat back down on my barstool. Had I lost my touch? Was Carlotta right about me? That the interns only wanted me because of what I represented to them? Most likely, but it’s not like I cared about that. I got what I wanted out of them. But Candy had wanted more than a fling, more than the leg up the ladder sleeping with me could get her. And now she was dead. Carlotta had said it was my fault. Was it?

No, I told myself. Candy was dead because she had snuck into our bedroom in the middle of the night and Carlotta had killed her. It wasn’t my fault Candy was deranged enough to stalk me. It wasn’t my fault Carlotta had let her jealousy get in the way of her rational side. Or had Candy attacked her, and she’d retaliated?

I didn’t know and thinking about it was hurting my head. I nodded to the bartender for another drink and he dutifully poured my shot.

“Make it a large one,” I said.

He added another shot, and again, he got a tip because there was no judgmental look. Maybe I had imagined the look the first time. Maybe it was because I knew I was acting like some middle-aged loser and that’s the reaction I was expecting.

The door to the bar opened and a group of girls came in. They were giggling and talking a little too loudly, and I grinned. These girls were more my scene. They clearly knew how to have a good time. They came up to the bar. One of them ordered four Manhattans.

“I’ll get those,” I told the bartender. “And another large one for me.”

I downed my current drink as the girl who had ordered the drinks smiled at me.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It would be a crime to see girls as beautiful as you four and not buy you a drink.” I smiled.

The girls nudged each other and giggled some more, and I felt myself starting to relax. The bartender brought the drinks over and I gave him my card. He ran it through and returned it to me. The girls had made their way over to a table by the time I got it back in my wallet, and I picked up my own drink and walked over to the table, taking slow, careful steps.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked.

One of the girls shrugged, and I took that to be a yes and sat down at the table with them. I was beside the girl who had ordered the drinks. I sat back and let their chatter go over my head as I studied the girls. The one near me was definitely the prettiest of them. She had long mousy blonde hair that could use a few highlights, but her face was pretty, and I found myself watching her as she spoke, her hands moving animatedly as she told some story to the others. They all burst into laughter as she finished, and I joined in, not wanting them to think I was ignoring them.

“So, is it a special occasion?” I asked the girl when there was a slight lull in the conversation.

She smiled. “It’s my birthday.”

She turned to look at me as she said it, and for a second, she held my gaze with her bright blue eyes. I smiled back at her.

“Happy birthday,” I said.

She was still smiling, still looking at me, and her hand reached up from the table. I thought she was reaching for my face to pull me in for a kiss, and I started to move in toward her. Too late, I saw she was only reaching up to brush a strand of loose hair from her cheek, but it was too late for me to stop moving in and I brushed my lips against hers.

She shrieked and jumped to her feet, pushing me off her. I went sprawling, falling from my chair. I hit the floor hard with a loud crash, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I gasped on the ground for a minute or two, and by the time I got my breath back and got back to my feet, the bartender had joined the girls, all of whom were speaking to him at once.

“Look, man,” the bartender said to me. “You’re going to have to leave, all right?”

“Me leave?” I said, shocked. I pointed at the girl. “She’s the one who assaulted me.”

“You tried to kiss me, you dirty old bastard,” she snapped.

I took a step toward her.

“What did you say to me?” I demanded.

She took a step back, a look of fear flitting across her face. Yeah, she wanted to be damned scared after she had led me on and was now acting like she was somehow the wronged party here.

The bartender stepped forward, putting himself between me and the girl.

“Look, man, I really don’t want any trouble,” he said. “But I have to insist that you leave.”

I debated arguing with him, but what would be the point? He wasn’t going to serve me any more drinks, and these girls were clearly too up themselves to really have a good time with.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go. But I’m finishing my drink first.”

He looked relieved and nodded his head. He picked up my glass and handed it to me .

“Cheers, ladies,” I said sarcastically, raising the glass in their direction.

I downed the drink and slammed the glass down on the table. I staggered toward the door and left the bar. The sun momentarily dazzled me. I staggered forward. There were plenty of other bars along here. I would just find one that was a little more welcoming, where the customers where a little bit more friendly.

I heard a car horn beeping and screeching tires. I looked up to see what was happening, squinting into the sun. Too late to do anything but freeze on the spot, I saw a car coming straight at me. I had somehow managed to stumble out into the road, directly into the path of the oncoming traffic.

I felt the car slamming into me. I felt my feet leave the ground and my body fly through the air. I pinwheeled my arms, desperately seeking purchase, but none came. My whole body was a screaming nerve ending, pain lighting me up. I fell back to the ground and everything went black.

I'm at home. In bed. Carlotta is lying beside me. It’s hot. Too hot, and I reach out and push the duvet away from me. Carlotta stirs beside me, but she doesn’t wake up. I have a pounding headache and my mouth is bone dry.

I close my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep, but I hear a noise from downstairs like glass smashing. That must have been what woke me up. But what’s causing it? I frown in the darkness, listening. More smashing and then silence. I shrug and close my eyes again.

They fly open when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Panic grips me tightly and I frantically shake Carlotta.

“What?” she groans. “It’s the middle of the night, William. Go back to sleep.”

“Someone's in the house,” I hiss.

She stops talking, sitting up now, wide awake. She wraps the duvet around herself, covering her chest.

“Who is it?” she whispers.

“I have no idea,” I snap. “Call 9-1-1.”

I get up out of bed, looking around for something I can use as a weapon, but there’s nothing. Instead of doing what I say and calling 911, Carlotta jumps out of bed too, and we look at each as the door to our room begins to slowly open. I can see the fear in Carlotta’s eyes. I can feel that same fear eating away at my stomach.

We look away from each other, both of us focusing on the door. It opens all the way and moonlight streams in, lighting up a figure who stops and stares back at us. I swallow hard. The figure in the doorway is Candy.

My eyes opened slowly. I looked around, trying to work out where I was and why my whole body was hurting like I’d been in a fight with half the city. I knew I had been drinking, and the pounding in my head confirmed it, but why was the rest of my body in so much pain?

I tried to move, to push back the thin blue blanket that was laid over me, but even moving my arm hurt like a bastard and I stopped even trying to move, instead trying and failing to work out where I was and what had happened.

“He’s waking up,” Carlotta said.

Okay, so Carlotta was here. Wherever here was. I felt her cool hand on my brow, and I turned my head slightly to look at her, ignoring the pain it caused me.

“Where am I? What the hell happened?” I asked.

“You were hit by a car. But the doctors say you’ll be okay. You need to rest,” she said.

I was still trying to process all of this when another voice spoke up. A voice that sent cold fingers of fear running over the back of my neck, followed by a deep-rooted anger .

“Mr. Alden? I need to ask you a few questions,” Detective Del Rey said.

I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to keep my anger in check. Flying off the handle now wouldn’t exactly look good. But what the hell was he doing here? Couldn’t a man even get hit by a fucking car in peace?

His voice brought something back to me, though. A dream I had before I woke up here in the hospital. A dream where I’d heard Candy breaking into our house. Where Carlotta and I stood at either side of our bed, watching her enter our bedroom.

Was it real? Was it a memory coming back to me from the night Candy was killed? Or was it just a dream brought on by the shit that had hit the fan big time?

I opened my eyes again. The sooner I answered the detective’s questions, telling him I remembered nothing, the sooner he would leave, and I could stew on it a bit and work out whether it was a real memory or not.