–Margaret Atwood

Chapter 10

Shirley Kidd adjusted the pillows behind her back as she held the ten pages of writing she had just completed at arm's length before her. I deserve a late night bowl of ice cream for this, she thought as she glanced at the clock. Doug should be home any minute now. I'll just wait until he comes in. She read over her work inserting and crossing things out, making notations here and there.

Hearing the familiar sound of her husband's car engine running in the driveway, she started putting away her manuscript. She heard the soft rattling of the garage door as it opened up for him to park his car. She heard its closing. She heard the car door slam shut, followed by the jingling of keys as he unlocked the door leading from the garage into the hallway.

Shirley smiled as she listened to her husband making his nightly rounds around the house which ended in their bedroom. He rattled the door knobs to the front door and the back door before making sure the alarm was turned on. He checked in on the children. He then pushed their bedroom door open.

"Hi, Doug. How was your night?" Shirley greeted her husband.

"The usual," Doug said removing his gun from its holster and placing it under lock and key in the safety box he kept on the shelf in their closet.

The usual. That's all it's been for the past couple of months, Shirley thought. "Anything interesting happen?"

"No." Doug proceeded to undress, grabbed his robe, and headed for the bathroom.

Tossing the covers aside, Shirley said, "Do you want me to fix you something to eat? The children and I had chicken and dumplings with vegetables." Shirley swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped her feet into her slippers.

"Warm milk and honey will do," Doug replied. "Let me take a quick shower first."

Shirley knew a "quick shower" meant he'd be up for a few more hours; it also meant more than "the usual" had taken place.

Shirley met her husband on the way back to the bedroom with two tall glasses of warm milk.

"I'll take it in the den," he said. "I need to unwind for a few minutes before going to sleep. You should go on to bed and get some rest."

"I'm pretty pumped myself. I finished ten pages on my story. Want me to read it to you?"

"Not right now. Just let me relax some," Doug said.

Shirley joined her husband on the couch as he turned the television to the news channel.

"Doug," Shirley said as the first commercial break came on, "is everything alright? You've been kind of withdrawn these past few weeks. You've been kind of cold."

Doug shook his head.

"Come on. Talk to me," Shirley said.

Doug sighed deeply as he gulped down the last of his milk. "I didn't say anything because I did not want you to be afraid. But Chief Bartlett received a letter about a month ago. The sender threatened to come after the families of the policemen who answered the call during that tragic shooting last Christmas. I don't know if you remember it. We're assuming it's the husband — the only survivor."

"Yes. I remember that," Shirley said after thinking for a while. "That's the one where the husband returned from jogging on Christmas Day to find his wife and two daughters dead and some of the gifts packed in a big sack. The killer was rummaging upstairs and heard the husband call 9–1–1. The husband heard the movements upstairs and proceeded to check things out. It seemed the killer was on purpose making noise to draw the husband upstairs. The killer then made a run for it, tackling the husband and knocking him out. He escaped before the police arrived. Right?"

Doug nodded. "That's the one. It's been five months, and we still have not found the person responsible," Doug said.

Shirley slid closer to her husband and placed his arm around her shoulder. "What exactly did the letter say, and how would he know which police officers were there?"

"The letter said we did not do our job; we should have gotten to the house sooner; we should have caught the killer by now; we were a sorry excuse for a police force, et cetera, et cetera." Doug leaned his head on the back of the couch. "He named my name, my partner's name, and two other officer's names. He must have gotten our names off our badges. The sender said he would contact the media when he makes his move. Chief Bartlett told us to keep quiet about it."

Shirley shuddered as the thought of losing her entire family in such a tragic way crossed her mind. "I still can't imagine who would do such a senseless act."

Doug tightened his arm around her. "I'm thinking of sending you and the children to my parents or your parents or some other relative until it blows over."

"No, Doug. We're staying with you," Shirley said.

Chapter 11

Clara Bow stopped at the public library to do some work on her final college project. I think I'll call it Missing Moms. Still curious as to the disappearance of Mayzie Dawkins, she decided to pay the family a visit. After securing the address, she stopped by the Dawkins' residence introducing herself as a reporter from the Sun Times.

"I'm doing a follow-up report on your wife," Clara Bow said. "Have you heard anything new about her disappearance?"

"The police have not been able to give us any new information," Paul Dawkins, Mayzie's husband, said.

From the information she gathered from him, Clara Bow produced a headline article for the Sun Timestitled: "How Does a Family Continue After a Loved One's Disappearance?"

"The article you wrote on Mayzie Dawkins touched my heart," Shirley said after she and her three writing friends had taken their seats for another Sister Soul Scribes meeting at the Java Bistro Cafe. Shirley thought of the disturbing news her husband had shared with her. "I can't even imagine being in her husband's position. What if Doug just disappears? Not knowing whether he is dead or alive would eat away at me. Worse yet, what if one of my children were to disappear?"

"I know that feeling," Nikki said. "It brought tears to my eyes when I read the section where you interviewed the four children. They're so young. They wake up everyday wondering: Is this the day Mommy's coming home? No Mommy to nurse their wounds; no Mommy to fix them a homemade smoothie; no Mommy to bake them cookies."

"Why don't we bake some cookies and take it to them this Saturday," Hermoth suggested.

"I'm with you," Clara Bow said.

"Me, too," the others said.

"We're so proud of you, Clara Bow," Hermoth said. "God's going to bless you for trying to help this family."

"Well, thank you. I couldn't do what I do without your words of encouragement," Clara Bow said. "Anyway, enough of that; I'm about ready to shed some tears."

The ladies quietly sipped on their coffee and orange juice and ate some danishes, each occupied with her own thoughts.

"You know what?" Hermoth said after a few minutes , "As I think about it, this whole Mayzie Dawkins thing could be turned into a mystery novel. You could approach it in one of two ways. You could begin with the incident at the ATM machine to whet the readers' appetite. Introduce her as a loving wife and a caring, doting mother of four. That will touch the readers' hearts. Go ahead and have a man who changes her tires to be the culprit; just don't tell that yet. The police could mention that this was the third woman who had gone missing in two months; the first two were last seen at an ATM machine and they suspect the perpetrator in each may be the same. Weave the truth of Mayzie's story into your fiction story."

"Rather than have the victims be killed, perhaps he can just keep them hostage somewhere," Shirley said. "You figure that out, because I cannot for the life of me understand a criminal's mind."

"I know. Sin," Nikki said.

"That's the truth," Hermoth said, "but people probably don't want to read that. You might want to look at a couple of books on the criminal mind."

"Thanks a lot," Clara Bow said.

"You can approach it from Mayzie Dawkins' point-of-view, from the kidnapper's point-of-view, or from the chief of police's point-of-view," Hermoth suggested.

"Thanks for your input," Clara Bow said. "But where are you all at on your stories?"

"My main character, Rhetta, is still trapped in her office building. She's afraid to walk out because she thinks someone's in the building," Shirley said. "The police have not arrived yet, and neither has she heard from her fiance — that two-timer."

"Two-timer?" Hermoth said.

"Yes. He's a cheat," Shirley said. "But he does not know that the girl he is cheating with is only using him to get back at her ex."

"That sounds like it's going to be one big mess to me," Hermoth said taking a bite from her pastry. "Please relieve our suspense. Read on."

Chapter 12

Rhetta held her breath as the softly echoing footsteps drew closer and closer. They came to an abrupt stop in front of her office door. Her heart almost stopped as she saw the doorknob slowly turn back and forth. She glanced at her cell phone.

Ring. Please ring. Stanley, please call, she thought.

"Rhetta," a raspy voice whispered her name. "Rhetta."

Rhetta's eyes flew wide open. She shifted her stare from the doorknob to the crack underneath the door. There was a faint shadow coming from underneath — a pair of shoes partially blocking the light.

"Rhetta. Rhetta Droxley," the raspy voice said softly. "I know that you are in there. Open up so we can talk."

How? … Who? … What? Rhetta thought nervously backing away from her desk. She quickly glanced out the window at the security guards' station. No movement and no light.

"Rhetta," the haunting voice said again. "Come on. Let's talk."

Silence.

The next sound Rhetta heard were footsteps softly fading … but light was no longer streaming under the door. With shaky hands, she dialed the security guard's station. "Thank God," she said out loud as someone picked up."Someone's in the building. I'm trapped in my office."

Rhetta's mouth gaped open but no sound came out as the raspy voice answered her. "I know you're in the building, Rhetta. I was just in there but you would not open up so we could talk. Now you're wondering who I am. I had a little gift for you."

Rhetta heard tapping — rhythmic, calculated tapping. She forced herself to look out the window. The light in the guard's station blinked on and off for a few seconds.

"Your form looks lovely through the window."

Rhetta snapped the drapes shut.

"I've been watching you for some time now–"

Lights. The lights, Rhetta thought frantically as she turned the lights off in her office.

"I can still see you."

Rhetta stared at the phone. It was as if it was glued to her hands — as if she was being forced to listen to the voice.

"You've been working here for about seven years now, and you're moving on up the corporate ladder. Congratulations."

"No more," Shirley said putting her manuscript down.

"Aw, shucks!" Nikki said. "I was just getting into it. Keep reading. Who's this mysterious person?"

"I don't know, yet," Shirley confessed slumping her shoulders. "I broke into the story to give the readers a background history of her fiance, Stanley — where he was, what he was up to, where he was born, how they met, how he received her message but chose to ignore it."

"How many pages did that take?" Hermoth asked

"Mmm, about two pages," Shirley said.

"Two pages!" Hermoth exclaimed. "Shirley, you just killed the story. You just lost your readers. Don't cut the suspense you have going on at the office to give mundane stuff about Stanley. As of right now, the readers want to know what is going to happen to Rhetta. Who cares a flip about Stanley at this time! We want to know who this raspy-voiced person is, and whether or not he succeeds in whatever he's going to do to Rhetta. Cut the backstory," Hermoth said drawing her fingers across her throat.

"Any suggestions?" Shirley asked.

"It could be her own boyfriend stalking her," Clara Bow suggested.

"Picture this," Hermoth said holding both of her hands in mid-air. "See … what's his name? … Yeah, Stanley. Stanley thinks she's seeing someone else because she's had to put in too many late nights, in his opinion. He's seen her walk out the building a few times with a co-worker. Of course, nothing's happening between them; they're only discussing office work, but Stanley does not know that, and rather than ask, he just assumes things."

"Or," Nikki interjected, "it could be one of her male workers who's been trying to get her attention, but he's upset because she keeps snubbing him. See, Rhetta's a one-man woman. She's had good upbringing; she visits the church house pretty regularly — "

"Or," Clara Bow interrupted, "it could be the stalker who's running loose in the area — you know — the one who's been breaking into the offices; you've already mentioned that. Anyway, he's seen her coming and leaving the office by herself; somehow he got a hold of personal information on her; now he has her on his radar."

"Three people to choose from," Shirley sighed.

"Whichever one you choose, remember what Alfred Hitchcock said: 'drama is life with the dull stuff left out.' Cut the two pages on Stanley," Hermoth said with a grin.

The friends laughed as they wrapped up their meeting.