The Greener Field

Fighting Back

Sarah met Carrie at Starbucks the next midday after her friend had flown down from San Francisco in the early morning. Staying at her parent's house at Fairbanks Ranch, with its extensive security, allowed her to sleep somewhat soundly. Yet, the whole move-in was just not comfortable, as it involved being back with the two people who perennially treated her like she was a girl of fourteen, hardly twenty-four. As far as her parents knew, she was only having some troubles with the "wonderful young man" she had met on their holiday to Greece, and had been dating of late. Her mother, seeing the true stress in her daughter's face did not pry, but Sarah knew it was only a matter of time before she would put her through a full inquiry as to why she left her apartment so stressed and came to stay with them, "just for a while," as she requested. 

Carrie was a different matter. She was Sarah's salvation under these new and most horrific conditions. They had gone from the humiliating sex tape, possibly being stalked to now something much more sinister and truly life-threatening. Carrie's seasoned participation with the FBI over the past few years offered Sarah the kind of advice, and now protection, she desperately needed.

"OK, Little Buddy. . . now tell me exactly what you saw and what occurred when the police arrived."

Carrie stirred her coffee slowly and matter-of-factly—cool as if she were on an assigned case.

"When I came back into my place . . . after that terrible incident with the dead cat, as I told you on the phone, I saw in the mirror . . . someone lying in my bed! This person was under the blankets and . . . I just couldn't leave until I knew who it was."

"That was pretty brave of you, Miss Sarah."

"Well . . .  I had to assume was Jess. But he wasn't moving . . . and didn't respond to my calling him."

"So then?"

"Carrie, I felt like running out . . . but just had to know! Had to see if it was him!"

"So you told me on the phone . . . it wasn't Jess. It was this . . . creepy guy. The one you met in England. Who's estate you stayed at and who sent Jess the email about the sex tape, right?"

"Yeah. Jess's partner in crime. Derek . . . his name was Derek."

"And you say it was . . . his  body you saw, there in your bed?"

"Yes Carrie! It was horrible!"

"OK, OK. Now I have to get this straight, Sarah. I'm sorry for asking more. But sweetie . . . how do you know he was dead?"

"He was  Carrie! He just was!  He was all white . . . and still . . . and starring up at the ceiling!"

"Aright. Now you didn't touch him to see if he was cold?  . . . Sorry, sweetie."

"No! I just freaked out and ran. I ran out onto the street and then all the way to the market!  That lady . . . Mrs. Donner helped me. Let me stay there until the police came."

"And you say when the police actually investigated your place . . . they found . . . nothing. Right?"

"That's right! Nothing, they said. Nobody. No signs of struggle. Nothing was missing . . . only the sheets, pillow and blankets."

"Sure, you see? To hide the forensic evidence of someone . . . either dead or alive in that bed."

"Carrie . . . you don't think he was dead?"