Rain pounds the streets while a woman walks on the sidewalk, a black umbrella swung over her shoulder. A sleek black limo waits, parked on the side of the road. She pulls the door open and slides inside, leaving the umbrella stranded outside in the pouring rain. The driver looks back at her. An attractive man in his late twenties, she trusts him more than she trust anyone else right now.
"Where to?" he asks.
"Parking garage," she says absentmindedly. "Seventh floor."
He nods and turns back around. The car rumbles to a start and gently rolls forward. The woman leans against the car door and stares out at the passing buildings. Rain pounds the roof of the car, creating white noise that the woman's grateful for. As attractive as the driver is, she's not interested in him. Anyway, she's always been bad at small talk.
The interior of the car darkens as the limo pulls into the parking garage. The rain is quieter now, as if the sound is being forced through a muffler. Rain should never be contained like that, the woman thinks. It should never be shut out or quieted or left alone-
"We're here, miss," the driver says. "Should I park?"
The woman opens the door and glances around the empty concrete space. "Yes, this is fine." She pulls out her compact mirror and smudges a bit of lipstick on. She looks out the window, a knot of worry tangling itself in her stomach. He was coming, wasn't he?
She can't know for sure. The only correspondence they'd had was with intermittent emails and text messages. Not that she doesn't know who he is; she had spent weeks reading interviews and searching his name, wondering who was the man who had finally found her secret.
She turns her attention back to the mirror, noticing with annoyance that her teeth and stained blood red. She slips a tissue out of her purse and dabs at the lipstick.
The door on the opposite her suddenly opens. She tosses the stained tissue to the side, although the lipstick is still stuck to her teeth.
"Get in," the woman says, her eyes still fixed on her reflection. "And close the door."
The man slides into the seat next to her. He glances at the red tissue. "Killed someone else, have you?"
"Not yet," she says. "Close the door."
The man pulls the door closed. "You hired a limo."
"Obvious, isn't it?" she says, flashing her teeth in the mirror. "I like to go out in style."
"I don't think that a red satin dress is appropriate courthouse attire."
"Does it matter? It goes well with my complexion." She takes another tissue out of her purse and blots her lipstick. "We all know what the outcome is going to be, anyway."
"Put that damn mirror away," he says. "You have better things to worry about."
She ignores him. "I'm about to be on national television. I want to look good."
He yanks the mirror away from her. "I'm going to regret helping you if you keep talking like that."
"I don't want your help."
"You will. I'm the only way you're going to get out of this mess."
She sighs. "Do you have a damn time machine?"
He grabs her chin and forces her to look at him. "I know why you killed him." His eyes are chocolate brown, reminiscent of cocoa and fireplaces and-
"You do?" she says.
He hesitates. "Well, I know he was a very bad man-"
"You're no better than the others," she says, tearing her eyes away from him. "Of course he was a bad man. Why else would I have done what I did? Never mind, don't answer that. I don't regret anything, and I don't need you to care for me."
"But you do," he says. He gently tilts her chin up toward him. "The mistress has sent someone to kill you. She doesn't want you to testify against him." His eyes are so very dark; they seem to pull her in like she's drowning in quicksand.
"Why does she care?" she says bitterly. "She didn't know about the drugs or the money. She was just the other woman-"
"I don't have an answer for that," he says softly. "People do strange things for love. I'm sorry, I wish I could help you more."
"You're not sorry," she says. "No, you're not sorry for anything. You got a job, a feature article- probably a whole damn journalism career- from my suffering!"
"I know." His eyes meet hers. "But I want to help you."
"I-" Her words are cut short as she feels the pressure of his hand on her thigh. The memories rush back to her all at once. She knows it's wrong, but she still can't forget the way that he held her last night. He was gentle and sweet, and she liked him more than-
"Cut!" a voice yell from across the room.
All at once, the woman returns to her surroundings. She sees the bright lights and cameras, the crew hidden in the shadows. Only the rain is real.
The woman glares at the man standing next to the large camera. "What is it this time?"
He taps his clipboard with a pen. "Wrong line, babe." His voice echoes through the empty parking garage. It had taken weeks for the film crew to get a permit to reserve the area for a few hours. "And more emotion. You're supposed to hate each other."
"You're stopped us five times already," the woman says, her voice growing angry. "What more do you want?"
"I just want you to listen to me, can't you do something as easy as that? Now let's pick it up from the last line." He nods to the camera crew.
She sighs. A flurry of retorts fly through her head, but she stays silent.
The lights brighten, blinding her for a moment. The woman takes a deep breath.
"I want to help you," the man next to her says. She shivers as the hand rests on her thigh again. But this time, she doesn't push him away. He lowers his voice to a whisper, so quiet that not even the microphones can pick it up. "People do strange things for love."
YOU ARE READING
Psycho #OpenNovellaContest
General Fiction"I want to help you," the man next to her says. She shivers as the hand rests on her thigh again. But this time, she doesn't push him away. He lowers his voice to a whisper, so quiet that not even the microphones can pick it up. "People do strange t...
